


In Your Head and Your Heart

by ArtlessMaroon



Series: The Psychologist and Friends [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, not me, who know if i'll finish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 28,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9343817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtlessMaroon/pseuds/ArtlessMaroon
Summary: Medic is not a big fan of sharing, especially when it comes to his experi- patients...





	1. Shaky Ground

**Author's Note:**

> I read that comic and I couldn't help it. My computer won't run the game, but I love the fandom content.
> 
> Also, I wasn't entirely sure which pairing to list this under, but I think the reader can project themselves onto the Psychologist decently enough. I probably won't ever reveal her name for that reason. I may also switch over to the reader's POV, but we'll see. Let me know what you think!

Outrageous, unacceptable, unquestionably wrong. Those were the choice words Mr. Ludwig had for the newcomer in his lab. Of course, she was not present in the lab to hear those words, but they were spat out in angry german in the general direction of her new furniture, regardless. In the corner of the room sat a curved sofa and an office chair. Medic was very tempted to remove them from the premises. This lab was not a shared space, his name was on the door. 

Speak of the devil, her shoes clicked, dull on the floor as she walked through the double-doors and directed Heavy through as well. He was carrying a large wooden desk that looked much too big to be at all functional. Was she really planning on using that? And just how much floor space would it monopolize? Too much, anyway. Her whole setup took up too much space. Space that should not have been hers to take. 

Medic tapped his boot on the tiled floor, but the woman paid him no attention until the desk was in place. 

“Thank you, Heavy.” She opened a few drawers, checking something inside. Glancing up and raising an eyebrow, she spoke again. “Come see me tomorrow at 3:00 for an eval. That will be all.” 

Heavy simply nodded and left the room, leaving Medic with the woman, who had pulled the office chair up to the desk and sat down. 

“Excuse me,” Medic began, ready to intimidate a few answers out of her, but was cut short by another intruder in his lab. His eye twitched as he heard the doors swing open, and he was ready to say a few words of… caution… but stopped himself as he realized that the new presence in the room was essentially his boss. He held his tongue. 

Miss Pauling sighed when she entered the lab, whether in relief or in exasperation, Medic could not tell, until she said something. 

With a glance at Medic and then at the woman, she finally addressed the elephant in the room. “Medic, meet the Psychologist. I know you must have some misgivings about sharing the med-bay, but the Administrator made the request that we add her to our staff. We had to comply with her standards of practice. She will be here for a month at the very least, so try to give her your cooperation.” 

To himself, Medic promised to do no such thing, but Miss Pauling did not have to know that. 

With a slight glare and a strict utterance of “Remember your job.”, Miss Pauling was out the door as quickly as she had come in. 

It took Medic but a quick second to process what this meant for his work. A month of this… disturbance of a woman. 

“So…” He began, not sure if this woman would acknowledge him at all.

She didn’t even look up. Not a glance. 

“You will get your turn, Dr. … interesting… not a doctor, hm? Very well. Would you prefer that I call you Mr. Ludwig or Medic? I feel the former to be more appropriate, but patients do tend to be picky about their names. Anyway, you will get your eval soon enough.” She turned her chair to face him while addressing him, but continued to look at some papers in a manilla folder. 

For once in his life, Medic was gripped with a million questions that were not of the “what if I did this to someone” variety. Who was this woman to presume that HE was the patient? Why did the administrator need someone of her useless talents? Why was she in HIS laboratory? 

Crossly, he began to interrogate her, “Just who do you think you are? I was given no warning about your arrival.” 

The Psychologist glanced at him. “You haven’t quite answered my question yet, not-doctor.” 

Medic was doing his very best to not flip her the literal bird and throw one at her. Their soft cooing did nothing to temper his mood. 

“Call me Medic, every nuisance around here does.” He was upset that this dig at her elicited no more response than the slightest twitch of her eyebrow. 

The Psychologist at least looked up at him long enough to make more than a millisecond of eye contact and smoothly said, “Very well, Medic. I am the Psychologist. I am here at the request of the Administrator to make a psychological evaluation on your group of mercenaries. She can’t have such a dangerous group becoming more unstable than you already are, yes?” 

It was clear that this woman was prepared to throw whatever verbal jabs he had for her right back at him. It was refreshing, conversing with someone of his mental caliber, but at the same time it was incredibly irritating. If she was a merc, she would most definitely be on the operating table right now. 

Medic pushed up his glasses. “I will set some clear rules for the use of my laboratory at a later date, but for the moment, there is only one thing you need know.” He slowly and methodically walked to her desk and leaned down so they were face to face. “Do not get in my way.” 

The Psychologist simply gave him a rehearsed smile. “Of course not.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Evaluations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made the executive decision to make short updates, that way I know what I actually wrote and I can keep the updates flowing easier. As always, if you see a flaw in spelling or grammar, let me know.

The next day Medic watched as the Psychologist spoke with Scout, the Pyro, and Spy, all somehow before the day was half over. For the most part, he was busy throughout the day with his own patients, but he could sympathize. At least he could put his patients under if needed. There was no escaping Scout’s blabbering for her. 

Even he could have told anyone who wanted to know what Scout needed to work on, but he supposed a formal evaluation was needed, no matter how obvious the problem was. He was stubborn, Medic shuddered to think how long it would take him to admit the fact that his father was not indeed Tom Jones. 

But then came the Pyro. This was the point where Medic could almost forgive her for taking up space in his lab. In his professional opinion, talking to Pyro was more difficult than bringing people back from the dead, even though that was something he could do. To add to it all, Pyro wasn’t exactly inclined to… sit down and listen. If she could somehow make the Pyro a more comprehensible human being, Medic could find it in himself to accept her company in his space. 

By the time Spy strolled into the lab, the Psychologist was having trouble maintaining the composure that she had shown off when she first arrived. Medic mused to himself as he polished a stray bonesaw. Maybe he would luck out and she would be gone when the mercs proved to be too much to handle. 

Disappointingly, she endured through Spy’s evaluation, though he did seem to be purposefully uncooperative. Soon enough, she dismissed him and deflated in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Gleeful in his observation that the Psychologist was already having trouble, Medic cheerfully asked, “Model patients, hm?” 

As she stood, the Psychologist flashed him a smile laced with sarcasm and something else he couldn’t quite identify. “Oh, Medic, I assure you that my patients are not the source of my discomfort.” 

Her hand made a pass under her nose that made no sense to the Medic until she was standing at the door. “Do try and shower every so often, hm?” 

And with that final quip, she was out for lunch, leaving Medic involuntarily sniffing himself and his surroundings. 

~~~~  
True to her insult, the Psychologist expressed her distaste for the Medic by eating elsewhere, though she did return with her bottle of water about a half hour later. Barely glancing at him, she sat down at her desk once more and immersed herself in more files, pulling folders out and replacing them at the same rate so the mess on her desk never diminished. 

Medic practically lived in his lab when he wasn't on the field, so he always kept some form of food around somewhere. Today he simply fished a bagel from the pack he had stolen from the kitchen yesterday. He had eaten while rudely poking around in the Psychologist’s desk. She was making such a mess of her own files, there’s no way she could notice later. 

That was what he thought. 

“Medic. You do realize that your hands are not devoid of your work?” The Psychologist held a single file. 

Mouth full of bagel, Medic stared, eyes slightly widened in his realization. Caught red-handed. 

Astute as ever, she waved the file around a little more, probably to rub his mistake in. “To satisfy your curiosity, you should probably know that I was given the same files that you were. I intend to pick up the slack where you have failed to properly utilize this information.” 

Medic was right back from feeling any sort of sorry for her. Now if only he could find some excuse to get her on the operating table… 

However, as somehow deemed by some bullshit higher power, he would never be given any time to respond, as the universe decided to deliver her next patient into his lab. 

Smirking through her ever-perfect timing, the Psychologist proceeded to welcome the Engineer into her little “office” and leave Medic to his own rather unsatisfactory devices.


	3. Who is the Patient?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments! I'm in the middle of middterms, and I'm as sick as I've ever been, but here's chapter 3! Feedback and spellcheck is always appreciated!

It wasn’t until the next day that Medic found himself unwillingly seated in that horrendous grey sofa. He sat rigid and poised, in horrible contrast to the furniture itself, like it was somehow necessary for him to be able to escape the one secluded corner of his own laboratory. 

The Psychologist, on the other hand, was calm and composed in her stupid office chair, swiveling gently from side to side. She held what he presumed to be his file in one hand and a pen in the other. Jotting down a few notes, she laid the file down on her desk and picked up a notepad. 

“Welcome, Mr. Ludwig.” 

That “barely-there” smirk that graced her smug face was already irritating enough, but her referring to him with his familial name despite his request to be called “Medic” was a little much. Medic let her know. 

“I have been in this lab with you all day,” Medic sneered, “and I hope that will not be the case for long.” 

The Psychologist didn’t flinch. “Procedure, Medic. Not that you would know much about that, hm?” 

Ouch. Medic was thankful that no other merc was there to witness the verbal beatdown he was about to be subjected to. This evil woman was in her element, and although Medic could easily weather the storm, Miss Pauling expected his cooperation. Really an undesirable set of conditions. Worsened, dare he concede even that, by the fact that the Demo was right outside his lab, drunkenly blowing up who-knows-what. It was rather loud. 

Containing his voice to an even volume, though he did raise it to be heard, Medic replied, “Let’s begin the eval, please.” 

“I assure you that my time here so far has already filled in the blanks about you. I just have a few questions before we both be on our merry ways. Let’s start with a few introductory necessities. Have you ever seen a counselor before?” The Psychologist tapped her pen on the notepad. 

Medic yawned. “Nein.” 

“Have you ever experienced extreme mental distress during your life?” 

“Does talking to you count?” 

The Psychologist raised an eyebrow and wrote something down, but otherwise ignored the quip. “I see. We’ll get to that eventually. Last question before we get down to business. Do you enjoy work here?” 

That question made Medic stop. He couldn’t really give a simple or offensive answer to that one. But he certainly didn’t want the Psychologist to think that he actually would dare consider anything she said. 

He settled on a quick and demeaning answer that probably would have earning him a solid glare from Miss Pauling. “I did, before you came along.” 

An eye roll was all that he received in turn, but the crisis was averted, for now. 

Twirling her pen between her fingers while she read something on her notepad, The Psychologist simply said, “Alright. I think that’s all I need from you today. You can go back to whatever nonsense you were doing, now.” 

Rather disappointed by the lack of retaliation, Medic stood up and walked to the other side of his lab, where he could resume working on his own projects. Archimedes perched on his shoulder, cooing softly in curiosity. Together they watched the Psychologist stand up, stretch, and leave the lab, presumably for a break. Medic smiled to himself, he must have been some hassle to her. 

“I think that went rather well, Archimedes-” 

He was cut off by a scream, and not a familiar one at that. One that sounded… feminine? In his confusion, Medic was rather slow to respond to the sound of pain, considering his normal reflexes on the battlefield. 

However, once he opened the lab doors, he was almost a victim as well. There, in a pit about ten feet deep, laid the Psychologist, eyes shut tight and tears streaming down her face, with what appeared to be a broken leg from the looks of it. Medic quickly made the connection that the Demo had drunkenly blown up parts of the base, and the Psychologist had fallen into ground zero.


	4. A Simple Dissection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer; all these sweet comments are making the process of writing this so incredibly fun. Please let me know what you think!

Oh how lucky could a simple man get? Medic certainly felt that this was the pinnacle of his personal supply of luck. The Psychologist simply had no choice but to submit herself to his medical practice. There was no other person qualified to help her for at least 50 miles. 

As Medic pulled on a fresh pair of gloves just for her, he could feel her eyes burning holes in his back. His grin only widened.   
“Would you like me to put you under, Mrs…?” He felt like quite the mental health professional, asking such a directive question. Sue him if he was feeling a little cheeky today. 

The pain she was in was evident in her voice as the Psychologist replied, “You will do no such thing. I’ve seen the reports... And I am not married. You may- ah!- refer to me as Ms. P or Doctor.” 

Her exclamation of pain when she moved was considerably reserved, considering the wound Medic judged her to have. 

“Very well, but be aware that we possess very limited local anesthetics. We ran out very recently.” Medic turned a few lights onto the operating table. 

With a resolute look of resignation, the Psychologist simply took off her coat and put a thick section of it in her mouth. Medic raised an eyebrow, but opted to let her suffer at her own hands. She was probably right to refuse his initial offer, he was very tempted to do more than what was required of this procedure. Although, what was the fun in putting another uterus in the one person who already had one? In the end, he probably would leave it at the initial procedure. 

After that deliberation, Medic set to work, trying to ignore the groans of the Psychologist. It was a simple job, not even remotely outside his usual range of work, but this woman was not one of his usual patients. He did not know her body like he knew the Heavy, or the Scout. And considering her role, it was unlikely that that was an acquaintance he would make. 

It was an ugly fracture, alright. She probably did a lot of twisting in mid-air, resulting in the stunningly bloody compound fracture that was laid out before him. Nothing he couldn’t handle without the medigun, but it would have been nice to have it on hand. Unfortunately, it was not calibrated to her body and therefore unavailable. 

Blood was wiped away, bone set back into place, tissue rearranged, and skin and muscle alike stitched back together. Wrapped up and cemented nicely in a plaster cast, any licensed professional could admire the result of his work.

During the procedure, Medic had considered being rougher than usual, just as payback for the recent eval, but held back. She would see him as a patient many more times than he would see her. Maybe a truce could be mutually beneficial? Perhaps he’d ask her when the tears were done running down her face. 

Although his job well-done came as no surprise to the Medic, the time it took to complete did take him aback when he looked up at the clock. He was expecting that the procedure took about 2 hours, maybe 3 at the most. In the bitter sense of reality, he had really spent 5 hours treating the woman who he considered to be a parasite in his lab. 

She was a quick-witted parasite, but a parasite nonetheless. Any loss in square-footage to his laboratory was an insult to him and his work. Or at least that was what he had convinced himself for the 3 days that the Psychologist had been in residence at the base. 

The aforementioned woman was even taking up space now, having the audacity to pass out on his table from the pain of her injury and surgery. Once she came to, Medic would take up that particular issue with her. 

But for the time being, he was content to study her for a short while. Through some listening in on her conversations with patients and some bold assumptions, Medic had found himself prepared to say that perhaps the Psychologist was not visiting this hellhole at the dictation of the Administrator. No solid evidence to support this theory existed, yet Medic would continue to search. Maybe a change in his behavior would spark a change in her’s, dare he say, that was relevant to the cause. 

He had resolved to test this almost-hypothesis once she woke up, and was not kept waiting. As soon as the thought had graced his mind, his ears were greeted with the sound of her hissing in pain. 

Alarmingly fast, Medic stuck his face within her field of vision. “Good of you to wake up. Your procedure was a success.” 

She was quite a sight to behold, even without her broken leg. Scratches and bruises on the cusp of full coloration framed her face, and her hair was wildly undone, maybe even a bit singed. Oh but the most chaotic were her eyes. Swollen and still full of tears, though she probably should have had none to give, they were wild. She looked like she wanted murder, although it was quite unclear whether she wanted to be the victim or the villain. Probably both in her delirious state. 

Some fear had crept into her eyes, “What… what procedure?” 

Oh. The pain had apparently been enough to warrant situational amnesia. Sometimes the world just encouraged his experiments.

Medic tried to hide his smile. “What do you remember?” 

The Psychologist was slow to respond, probably numb as a response to the pain. “I had just seen a patient for an eval… I don’t remember who it was… and then I left the room… and that was it.” 

Opportunity was fickle, but plentiful today. Medic pushed up his glasses. “Well, I can tell you that you suffered a compound fracture to both the tibia and fibula of your left leg. Fortunately the bone exited the anterior surface of your leg, so you suffered minimal muscle damage. I was able to place the bones back together, but you will be incapacitated in some way for at least the next year. You will require physical therapy to walk properly again.” 

As she absorbed all of the information, the Psychologist turned quizzically to look at him, “Should it be hurting this much?” 

Medic stopped himself before he outright admitted that no drug was administered. “... No, although your previous dose has probably worn off. I’ll grab some more painkillers for you.” 

With his back turned to the Psychologist, Medic let the wicked grin he had been suppressing spread across his face. As much as he loathed to use his precious supply of painkillers, this was quite the opportunity that had fallen into his lap. When his dear patient was more cognisant, he would test the limits of how friendly he could get her to be. Maybe then he could discover what her real purpose was.


	5. Following Procedure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot even believe the amount of support that this fic has gathered in its short lifespan. I cannot thank you guys enough for the sweet comments and the incredible suggestions. Super special thanks for Skyward-Legion for helping me flesh out the Psychologist, we can't wait to share her more of her character with you. 
> 
> This chapter is ... interesting. As always, feel free to share your thoughts with me!

Medic was becoming impatient. Just how long could that leg remain unusable? Whenever the Psychologist needed to go to the lab, she was slow and loud, hobbling around on crutches much too tall for her. It hurt Medic to watch. It also meant that every time she needed to go out of the lab, he would have to go with her, open doors, and generally make sure that she didn’t hurt herself again. An embarrassing arrangement for the both of them. 

Medic had considered just sucking it up and aligning the Medigun to her body, but there were several issues with that. First, doing so would cut into his already-shallow budget. Second, she would only ever need to be healed once. Third, the process required precise measurements. He couldn’t just grow out her leg an extra six inches, now could he? 

However, today was an annoying day in particular. The Psychologist seemed to be going out of her way to disturb him, even going as far to have him refill her water bottle three times in two hours. Medic was on his wits end. 

His little experiment involving her was not one he could simply conduct with a scalpel and a billion dollars worth of exotic organs. No, this time he would need to investigate, conduct evidence, and try not to piss of the people around him for once. It was agonizing, but for some reason, his curiosity was getting the better of him. 

Strange, usually all of his curiosities related to medical science. This had nothing to do with the human body at all. Why did he care if she was working at the Fort under false pretenses? Nothing she did really interfered with his own long term goals. He’d never be able to use this information at a later date. 

Nevertheless, his investigation was underway. And maybe his only reason for not minding his own business was to be a nuisance to her. Or maybe she was just fascinating.

Interestingly enough, Archimedes seemed to like her. He would often fly over and perch in her hair while she organized files or talked to a merc. She even graciously ignored the blood in his feathers. 

Today, she sat at her desk, leg propped up to the side at a rather awkward angle, writing furiously on one of those yellow pads of paper. She didn’t even stop looking at the paper when drinking from the water bottle that Medic was constantly refilling. 

Medic decided that he could be annoying today too. “What are you doing? Your pen is loud, stop it.” 

“Shhh!” The Psychologist shoved her free arm in his general direction, in some wild gesture meant to silence him. “I’m on the verge of a breakthrough.” 

“Oh, aren’t we all.” Medic rolled his eyes. He had toned down his own scathing remarks since the accident, since the Psychologist had come to realize that it wasn’t wise to insult the man making sure that she could walk again. It didn’t make the loss of his lab space any less annoying, however. 

“Hey,” the Psychologist began, lowering her arm, “I’m doing important work here. You and I both know that a clear method of communication for the Pyro would be revolutionary.” 

Medic had to admit, his interest was piqued. He leant down to peer at her notes over her shoulder. How had she managed such a thing? 

She answered before he even had a chance to ask. “I based the theory off my sessions with Sniper.” 

“So… cave paintings with piss?” 

“What?” The Psychologist didn’t even spare him a glance. “No. I meant we can communicate by learning how Pyro interacts with the world. I’ve been having him draw.” 

Medic sniffed indifferently, “That explains the ash in your hair.”   
“Hey, he stopped burning the paper after the third try. He’s making progress.” She flipped to a new page. “It’ll be a slow process, but if I can interpret the drawings correctly, I should be able to ask him questions and use the drawings as answers. That is, if my methodology is correct.” 

“Let me see that.” Medic made a grab for her notepad, swiping it right out from under her pen. He flipped through the pages, pretending to read her notes on the Pyro. He had his own communication system with the Pyro that worked just fine… No, Medic was really interested in her notes on him. She almost never left the lab, so he had never gotten the chance to skim through the notepad. 

He was a bit hurt, the notes from his sessions were mostly just labeled “uncooperative” and “common signs include…”. Most of it was standard jargon and a few suggested procedures, procedures that his knowledge of would probably render useless. He stood up a little straighter when he caught one particular string of words, “... looks quite different without glasses.” When had she seen him without glasses? Did she see him walking-

“Ahem.” Aforementioned woman coughed to get his attention. “Are you okay there? Unless you’re really that invested in my methodology, I need that notepad.” 

The notepad was halfway back into her hands when it suddenly vanished, replaced in her field of view by a wicked grin on Medic’s face. He held the notepad tightly in one hand, way above her reach. 

“Do you?” 

The frown on the Psychologist’s face deepened. “Just when I thought you were interested in actual science…” 

Medic simply adjusted his glasses and sat on the sofa where she couldn’t reach him. “Oh I am, although the methodology isn’t as interesting as these… side notes.” 

In a single glance, Medic saw the fear in the Psychologist’s eyes. Delightful. When she rolled her chair over to try and snatch her notepad back, he simply stood up and walked around, avoiding her outstretched hands.

“Ooo! What is this?” Medic exclaimed in reverie. “ ‘Mr. Ludwig doesn’t smell like blood today. It is a nice break from the usual.’ Oh! How about this one? ‘Mr. Ludwig smiled today, he actually looks nice when he smiles for himself.’” 

Medic watched as the Psychologist steeled herself. “You aren’t scott-free yourself, Medic! Remember that sleep study I did a week ago? You talk in your sleep. And it’s all up here.” She tapped her temple gently. 

That certainly got Medic’s attention. “What did you hear?” He could feel the fear creeping in. What if he revealed something important? He could think of nothing important enough to be kept secret at the moment, but he knew there had to be something-

“You speak in German, unfortunately.” The Psychologist indulged in a smile of her own as the realization washed over Medic. She had scared him half to death. 

Medic was about to retaliate with another excerpt from the notebook when she interrupted him. 

“Now, I believe it is time that we be off to our quarters. Be a dear and fetch me my crutches. I recall that you placed them on the shelf for ‘convenience’.” 

The Psychologist stretched as she said all of this, and Medic made an executive decision, conveyed to her with a simple, “No.”

Instead, he walked over to her, set the notepad on the table, and picked her up right out of the chair, noting her yelp of surprise with some satisfaction. Better to keep this woman guessing, can’t make her job too easy. She may have been able to manipulate Soldier or Scout, but Medic was very attached to his free-will, thank you very much. 

“Medic! I am perfectly capable of walking with the crutches!” He caught her look of indignance through the corner of his eye. 

“What a shame.” Medic ignored her outrage, opening the door with his foot. “I’ll come get you in the morning.” 

The Psychologist hissed, “This is what I mean when I say you are not a doctor. You are lucky that none of your patients have even the slightest notion of what a real doctor is.” 

Scathing indeed. Or it would be, if Medic cared. His own apathy regarding the subject surprised him sometimes. Perhaps he never considered himself to be one. As a term, ‘Researcher’ sounded so much cleaner. He’d have to ask Archimedes his thoughts later.


	6. A Break in Conduct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I wanted to let you know that I'd love to know your thoughts on a few questions! Just 5! https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/WHZN832 
> 
> It would really help me out if you'd answer, then I'd know what you all want to see. I do have a plan for this fic, but it is subject to change depending on your responses. The more the better! 
> 
> Once again, thank you all; you're all so kind and give me hope for the TF2 fandom.

There was a problem. A big problem. Medic had silently realized this one day while doing some routine maintenance on Heavy’s heart. It was a simple problem really, but it irritated the shit out of Medic. A shame, really, that he had to come across that particular realization while holding the heart. There goes another six million. 

Anyways, it all came down to the fact that the Psychologist’s leg would take an additional 3 weeks before it was stable enough so Medic could take the cast off. It was also more than likely she would be much more leisurely about her work once her supposed one-month contract was up, leaving her more time to be annoying. Even when she was minding her own business she was annoying. There was only so many times Medic could garner amusement from watching her lip sync the soundtrack from “Heathers”. And that number didn’t even include the number of times she had to do it for Medic to even figure out where the songs came from. 

Depressing musicals aside, the point was that the Psychologist was here for a longer amount of time than anticipated. More time for Medic to investigate (he had changed his mission’s status from experiment to investigation when he realized he had very little involvement in the outcome). 

Today she sat in her chair, spinning slightly like she usually did, mouthing the infernal lyrics of “Dead Girl Walking” and writing in her usual notepad. No patients for her, she had decreed, therefore the traffic in the lab had decreased significantly. The quiet was pleasant, minus her presence. 

Medic watched as she had her big finish, raising her free arm in the air dramatically. He had never actually paid enough attention to discern any of the lyrics of the song, but he always knew that it was this particular song because she always raised a fist in the air at some point during it. 

Weird that she actually felt comfortable enough around him to do that, or then again, maybe she had forgotten he was there. The former was probably the case, though. Recently she had begun to pet his birds, greet him in the morning, and leave out the more scathing jabs at him during their sessions. 

She had begun to treat him like she treated all of the other mercs. 

Though he certainly hadn’t put too much thought into it, Medic almost missed the version of her that could make him outraged in a heartbeat. He saw less of her signature scathing cold responses, and more of a passive acceptance of his presence. It was rather disappointing. 

Well! All the more reason to get her out of his lab as soon as possible. Medic made a resolution, he’d suck it up and align her to the Medigun. And with the lack of patients, today was the perfect day for such a procedure.

“Excuse me,” Medic began, leaning up against her solid desk, “I believe I have an answer to your predicament.” 

The Psychologist looked up at him with a look of confusion, glanced down to turn the music off, and then said, “What?” 

Cue the urge to roll his eyes, Medic held it together and repeated himself simplistically, “I can fix your leg.” 

Cue the eyebrow raise of suspicion. The Psychologist set down her pen with a soft clunk on the desk. “And why not do this, say, when it happened?” 

There it was. Medic hid a smile. 

“I just gained approval. It’s quite an expensive technique.” 

The eyebrow was not lowered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sick of this cast, but why spend the money?” 

Inquisitive as always, Medic noted. “Miss Pauling would hate to have difficulties with your contract.” 

“...” 

He straightened his posture as he watched her take the bai-

“You’re lying.” 

Cue his heart stopping. 

Medic chose his next words very carefully. “...What?” 

The Psychologist laughed in his face, “I will take you up on the offer, but you should probably know that I can tell when anyone here is lying. Of course, I admit I found it tough in the beginning, but it became quite easy once I figured out your motivations.”

Once the shock passed, Medic felt the disgust creep across his face. “You think that you have nothing to fear from me?” 

She even dared to look away, with that signature smile adorning her face. “Oh no. I would say that I know I have nothing to fear from you, though.” 

Consider the decision made. Medic held it together, just barely. “Regardless, let’s begin, shall we?” 

And with that, he ignored her reach for her crutches and hefted her over his shoulder, ignoring the spluttered protests. He knew he’d only have cause for concern when she was silent, meaning she was thinking. She was dangerous when she was thinking. Better to keep her on her toes, where she could insult him no further. 

She managed to get words out, regardless. “Excuse you. I’ll certainly be adding ‘compulsive’ to my notes on you.”   
Medic set her on the table. “Oh those notes are delightful to read!” 

The flash of fear that flickered in her eyes was quite satisfactory. Under normal circumstances, she would probably be able to tell that he had never actually read any notes since that first time, as much as he would have liked to. However, her slight panic masked his lies to her prying. 

As much as he loved listening to her, Medic had work to do. “Are you sure you don’t want to be asleep?” 

Her glare spoke for itself, but the stubborn utterance of, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” was the icing on the cake. 

“Very well.” 

Medic shrugged, let the smile he had been withholding make its way onto his expression, and began the procedure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep cutting these off at weird places, but there is a reason.


	7. Back For More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super special thanks to Skyward_Legion for spellchecking and providing some incredible content for this chapter!!
> 
> Also, if you haven't already taken it, there's a survey for you all on chapter 6! Thank you to those who answered, I think this chapter will be more to your tastes.

It had been a while since Medic has used the equipment needed to align someone’s body to the medigun, and it was giving him quite the hard time. The combination of his own recent inexperience, the age of the equipment, and the uniqueness of the Psychologist’s situation made the process fairly difficult. 

First of all, he would normally be working with totally unharmed material. Well, unharmed by any other force. If he scanned her leg at present, he could theoretically break it every time he used the medigun on her. And as entertaining as that would be, that wasn’t the goal here. 

The medigun was essentially a biological time machine, designed to return damaged tissue to a predesignated state. It could bring people back from the dead, and reverse the aging process, as seen in the spawn room. Of course, the people who touted Australium as the perfect method for cheating death didn’t have to know about that. Australium only preserved a person’s soul, but the more they fought amongst themselves, the less he had to worry about them bothering him. 

Second, if he could keep his thoughts in line, he hadn’t lied to himself about the cost. It physically hurt him to think about how much the other areas of his budget would suffer because of this. Hadn’t this woman cost him enough already? The medigun didn’t use australium, true, but the amount of power and other expensive elements that it consumed for first-time use was tremendous. 

He already had these misgivings when he first considered using the medigun on her, but now, as he held the scalpel and scanner in his hands, they were coming to life. 

The actual process was simple enough, the gun needed to know how much blood, bone, and the amounts of the other tissues types that were in each section of the body at any time. Simply scanning the body and inputting a few measurements would suffice, except that the gun couldn’t detect tissue through layers of other tissue types. He had to make multiple incisions in every limb and the torso in order to be able to touch each bone. It was excruciating, and the length of the process was a mental battle within itself. With her refusal to be put under, the Psychologist would need to dig deep and hold out once more. 

Well, Medic supposed it was time to bite the bullet and get started. 

He resolved to start with the legs; it’d be the most difficult to take the measurements for the undamaged leg, flip the coordinates and apply them to the damaged leg. First, he scanned the skin of the leg, from the iliac crest to the foot. 

Then, as he held the scalpel, Medic calmy said, “I will now make the first incision to the anterior thigh, along the sagittal plane, in a proximal to distal motion.” as he cut the skin covering the quadriceps, right above the femur. 

This immediately prompted a shout of, “You pretentious prick!” from the Psychologist. 

She was absolutely right, if not missing a few more descriptive words, but Medic said nothing in response, instead electing to furrow his brow as he worked. He would cut, peel back a layer of tissue, scan, and move on, listening to her groans and occasional screams of pain as he moved deeper through her leg, knee, and foot. He didn’t dare look at her face. 

When he had first gotten her on his table, it had almost been a delight to hear those vocal cords resonate with the sounds of human suffering. Today… Today Medic took very little joy in hearing these noises. He could feel his hands moving quicker and more precisely, so as to minimize those sounds. It was futile, and he knew it, but it eased what shred of a conscience he had left. 

Eventually he had made of all of the necessary measurements for the leg. Swiftly inputting the numbers into the medigun, he flipped it on and healed all the incisions he had made. The outside of her leg was still covered in her own dried blood, but at least all the incisions were gone. 

Medic steeled himself and looked the Psychologist in the eyes. He winced as he realized that they were glazed over with pain and filled with tears that she refused to shed for him. He felt some slight relief when she sighed, her body registering the newfound lack of pain. 

It surprised him quite a lot when she spoke, her voice hoarse. 

“Your techniques are brilliant, but they hurt like a bitch.” 

Medic poked her shoulder. “How fitting.” 

Dare his ears deceive him, he actually heard her laugh. He made her laugh, by himself. Usually she only laughed when she made a especially clever jab at him, or when one of the other mercs said something amusing. 

In some response to the small rush of delight he felt from hearing her laugh, Medic elected to go right ahead and do the calculations that would allow the Medigun to fix her leg. That would leave her some time for recovery.

“How do you feel?” Medic spoke as he sat down with some scrap paper and the scanner. 

More rough laughter. “Like a test subject, so no difference.” 

Medic paused with his work. “I hardly think that’s fair, I’ve only had you on my table one other time, and I was very well-mannered.” 

“Sure you were.” The Psychologist turned her head to look at him. “... Talk me through how this works, I need a distraction.” 

“Hmmm. I’m afraid that can’t be arranged. Top secret. And you wouldn’t want me growing your leg a whole three feet longer, do you? You can check my calculus, though.” Medic could hear himself, and his own lighter tone of voice took him by surprise. He pondered this as he handed over his papers. 

He watched as the Psychologist’s brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Your complete disregard for notation is quite impressive, considering the fact that I can’t find any error to attribute to it. That is, if you were actually implicitly differentiating at all. Good god, how many people have you screwed up by solving the chain in your head? You were going for L prime, right?” 

Medic smiled. “Indeed. So no errors, I see. Let’s fix up that leg, then!” 

The Psychologist sighed and laid her head back onto the table. It saddened Medic to see her resignation to more pain. Oh well, at least she would be pleasantly surprised before they had to dive back into the process again. 

He grabbed a bone saw and set it to the cast on her leg, sawing away at the red-speckled plaster, not even bothering to watch the anxiety build in her eyes as he got closer to her leg.

“Keep reading my work.” Medic instructed handing her a pen from his shirt pocket, “Doctor it up if you wish.” 

The Psychologist kept silent, but complied as he worked to free her leg. 

The cast itself was exceptionally tough, and Medic found himself wishing that he bothered to sharpen his instruments more often. While a clean cut wasn’t as fun on the battlefield, it would have been nice here. 

After a length of time that was considerably longer than he would have liked, Medic found himself a sweaty and uncaring mess, covered in plaster dust and breathing hard. After he had expended so much effort, this woman’s leg was now his life’s priority. He’d die before he’d see it broken for another second. 

Hastily turning on the medigun, he pointed it at her leg, watching the organic materials rearrange themselves under skin that was returning to its normal shade from its previous myriad of colors. 

Medic barely heard the Psychologist whisper to herself as she moved her healed leg, “Incredible…” 

Something about the way she said that struck a chord in Medic that he could not find the words to describe. He felt grateful that someone could appreciate the majesty of his work, but some part of him rang with a warning in his head. It was still a mystery as to her purpose here. It was a real toss up. She could even be with the BLUs- 

Any trace of thought was suddenly wiped from his mind as the base was rocked by a massive explosion somewhere a little down the hall. Medic could feel the dust being shaken loose from the ceiling as it was sifted onto him. That’s when the alarm sounded. 

The rest of the procedure would have to wait. From the sound of rushed footsteps scrambling through the halls, it sounded like his team needed him. He took one last look at the Psychologist, gripped the medigun, and hurried out. 

As he was running, Medic heard the Psychologist should something along the lines of, “Where are my pants?!” but he really had no time to pay attention. Pants or not, she would be fine for now. 

He first met up with Demo, who quipped that it was unusual for him to be bloody before battle. 

Demo wasn’t wrong, of course; Medic prided himself in starting the battle as a professional, but today was not the day to be professional. This time, the start of the battle was as hectic as the heat of it. It didn’t bode well, in his opinion. 

They were greeted with the usual blinding light of the desert, and slapped in the face with the combined heat of the desert and the surrounding explosions. 

Medic caught sight of the BLU Scout somewhere in the distance before he was forced to duck behind a wall. 

“Why the hell are they so close?” Medic growled as he loaded his syringe gun. 

He turned to Demo, expecting some sort of reply, but was instead met with Spy’s smug face. 

“GyAHH!” Medic almost shot Spy full of 7 syringes. “You have to stop that. It’s a miracle I haven’t killed you on accident.” 

Spy rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t believe in miracles doctor, but don’t worry, you couldn’t. Now, do you want the answer to your question or not?” 

Medic peeked out from behind the wall. “Let’s push them back, then we’ll talk.” 

He stood up and located Heavy. “Hey! Heavy! Let’s go!” 

~~~ 

Time was so hard to keep track of when the sun shone forever and when you were busy slaughtering your enemies. Medic was getting quite tired of the discouraging lack of progress. They still had no clue as to why the BLUs had broken from regulatory hours, or why they continued to pursue their unknown goal, despite the fact that neither team could gain ground.

The tide of battle had gone back and forth between the two teams, but the BLUs were gaining ground again. Medic was pretty sick of it. They were all tired. And as they were all essentially immortal… the battle could go on forever. 

He had been shish-kabobed, backstabbed, sniped, and blown up, all at least once today. 

Speaking of blown up, there went Pyro. 

Uh oh, the BLU Demo was coming right for him, and he was out of ammo. Preparing for another trip to respawn, Medic braced himself, but the familiar fiery death never came. 

When he opened his eyes, the Psychologist stood over the fallen man. “It’s very impolite to leave a patient without their pants.” 

That was when Medic noticed that she wasn’t wearing her own clothes. She had folded, tucked, and arranged his own spare shirt and pants so that they just fit her. How she found them easier than her own garments was a mystery. 

In addition to his clothes that were much too large for her, the Psychologist carried two pistols, and wore what seemed to be a utility belt that played a huge role in keeping those pants up. 

Medic heard his own voice protest, “You weren’t done with the procedure!” 

“Neither were you.” The Psychologist ushered them to some cover. “This fight has been going on for six hours now. I figured you might need some help ending it.” 

“None of us were made aware this particular skillset of yours.” Medic hissed.

Looking unaffected as usual, the Psychologist shrugged. “I’m here now, whether you like it or not. We can finish this quickly and then go back to the table. Sound good?”

As tempting as having a fit right there and then sounded, Medic weighed his options. He could yell at her to return the base some more, despite him knowing that she would never listen, and risk losing more ground to the BLUs, or he could shut up, since there was no convincing her otherwise. 

When he considered the possibilities like that, there really seemed to be no choice. 

Medic sighed, “I have said it once, and I will rephrase now: Do not get in my way or stray from my sight.” 

The Psychologist mimicked a salute as Soldier would do. “Of course.” 

~~~ 

Amazingly enough, once the Psychologist joined the fight, it seemed like the BLUs simply vanished. She barely had time to shoot a round before it seemed like there was no one left but them in the dusty wasteland. 

Taking a moment to relax, Medic turned to the Psychologist and Heavy, who had joined them not long ago. “Spy better have some good information after this mess.”

The Psychologist stretched her arms to the sky, the shirt she was wearing pooling around her shoulders. “Shouldn’t this encounter have some sort of precedent?” 

Heavy grunted in dissatisfaction. “No.” 

The sound of footsteps alerted the trio to another presence. 

“Oh! Speak of the devil.” The Psychologist turned her head and greeted Spy as he approached. 

Spy casually shrugged. “I’d love to correct you, Madame,” he paused for a second- 

And plunged his knife right into her back. 

“But I’m afraid that you are right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't I just so nice to you guys? Don't you just love all these cliffhangers? Tell me about it!
> 
> https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/Y7DJDL3 -----> This is the same survey as previously mentioned, for your convenience.


	8. Post-Mortem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little warning for some vomit and nudity. Of course the nudity has always been implied, but it's mentioned briefly here. 
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support!

Medic could hear screaming. The Spy’s screaming as Heavy filled him with bullets, and someone else’s screaming. He felt so detached from reality, but the screaming remained constant. 

It wasn’t until he was surrounded by his teammates and he registered the pain in his throat that Medic realized that it had been him who was screaming. He quickly forced himself to stop and calm down and look down at the woman in his arms. 

As he forced himself to examine the damage, pulling open his own shirt from her body, he quickly realized that she was gone. The knife was positioned by an expert. Right between the scapula and spinal cord, in a gap between the ribs, right through to the heart. Her chest cavity was likely full of blood by now. 

She was dead. 

The murmurs from his teammates grew louder, and Medic felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” Sniper said, “Why isn’t she in respawn, mate?” 

Medic took off his glasses and sighed. “I never calibrated her. Her legs are in the data files of the medigun, but everything else is a mystery.” 

That quieted the team. 

Sniper spoke again. “Okay, even so, why don’t you just do what you did for me all that time ago?” 

Time to spill the beans. With all of his victims present. 

Medic stood up, ready to take lose the trust of all of his friends at once. “It worked for you… because you don’t have a soul. None of you do. The surgeries I do help keep the body maintained, but have nothing to do with the soul. That’s what the world needs Australium for. As long as you’re within range of the medigun and respawn, you’re all essentially immortal.” 

He let the statement take it’s hold before continuing. 

“I can fix her heart and her body, but she either needs permission to leave the world of the dead, the will to, or a rather large quantity of Australium that the world frankly does not possess anymore.” Medic felt despair sink in as he listened to himself. What were the chances of her returning to this hellhole?

He looked down at her body again and felt the flickers of rage. The BLUs had vanished as soon as she was dead. She was their target, and she was the reason they had attacked. 

Medic found his limbs moving of their own accord as he picked her up off of the dusty ground. In his mind, he made two resolutions. One, he would find out why the BLUs wanted her dead, by any means necessary. 

And two, he’d do everything in his power to revive the Psychologist, despite the horrible doubt he felt. Despite the miniscule chance that it would actually work. 

Surrounded by his teammates that he had known for years, Medic had never felt more alone, or more guilty. 

If she was around to scold him, Medic knew that the Psychologist would tell him something incredibly rational about how he felt. But she wasn’t here. And Medic didn’t know how to feel.  
Upon returning to his lab, Medic set the body on the table and sat down on the floor, burying his face in his knees. The mercs, himself, most of them had been doing this for a long time. It was so easy to just say that they deserved to expend their energy in this wasteland forever. They would never die, and it kept them away from society. It kept them occupied. 

The woman that had took on the job of keeping them stable probably didn’t deserve to rot with them. She could be a criminal like the rest of them, but Medic went with his gut feeling that she wasn’t.

Looking back, Medic had always subconsciously thought that she was untouchable. She didn’t exactly belong with all of them, like she was a step above. Clearly no one was infallible. 

Slowly rising from the cold tile floor or their formerly shared space, Medic walked over to one of his large cabinets of supplies. He replaced his gloves, picked out some tools, and set them down on the mobile tray beside the operating table. 

Maybe work could dull this strange pain. 

 

~~~

The procedure wasn’t anywhere near as complicated or lengthy as Sniper’s because she had passed only recently, and it was quite easy to isolate the area of the wound. It didn’t make the process less burdensome. 

Weird that he couldn’t hear any groans or screams of pain. Any normal doctor would consider that a good thing, but as she relentlessly reminded him, he wasn’t a doctor. Funny, it’d be much more comforting to have her making jokes at his expense at the moment. 

When he was finally done, he stepped back and turned away, unable to look at his work anymore. A few of his doves and Archimedes had approached the body; it had been a while since there was a dead body in the lab. The birds had really seemed to like her, much to Medic’s initial chagrin. 

They’d perch on her shoulder and occasionally get stuck in her hair, or sit or on her desk, cooing at her like the needy fuckers they are. She seemed to like them too. Occasionally she’d stop whatever she was doing to pet them when they flocked to her. Medic thought little of it as the days went on, because the birds even liked Scout, but she was the only person on base besides Medic himself to like the little birds back. 

He could recall one particular day, during one of her sessions with Engie, that they had really shown how much they liked her. 

Medic had been idle for most of the day, electing to bother the Psychologist between her sessions with the other mercs. He had been busy, childishly keeping her pens captive, when Engie knocked loudly on the lab doors like he was prone to doing. The abrupt noise had startled Medic, and he promptly dropped every pen he had been holding. 

“Shit.” The Psychologist took a break from reaching out to retrieve her pens. “One second Engie!” 

There was a muffled call of, “Alrighty!” from outside the doors, before the Psychologist gave Medic a face-melting glare. 

She looked like she was going to give him a pretty decent tongue-lashing, but a rustle of feathers cut her off. 

Suddenly, all at once, there were 12 doves, armed with the pens medic had dropped, flying around the two of them. They took the pens and either placed them haphazardly on her desk, or stuck them in her hair, along with some feathers. 

Archimedes proclaimed himself the king of the mess and sat atop her head, cooing triumphantly. 

The ensuing image was hilarious. The Psychologist had pens and feathers sticking out of her hair at all angles, and her eyes were widened in surprised with her mouth molded into an “o” shape. Medic couldn’t stop laughing.

She had laughed with him for a while, but then she remembered that Engie was waiting outside, and likely to come in if he suspected something was amiss. Her demeanor changed again. 

“Medic,” she hissed, “you better help me out right now, or I will make the next week a living hell for you.” 

Medic flashed her his signature smile. “Been there. It wasn’t exciting enough for me.” And then he proceeded to turn and begin to walk away. 

Or he tried to, before he almost pitched forward with the weight of one angry woman at his waist. She was quite serious. 

“Clean it up yourself!” He avoided the hands grabbing at his glasses. 

The Psychologist was surprisingly acrobatic, and was practically climbing on him now as her voice rose. “They’re your birds!” Her cast dug uncomfortably into his shin. “I can’t see a patient like this!” 

Medic rolled his eyes, “Sure you can! It won’t make that much of a difference.”  
“Just do it!” 

“No!” 

That’s when she fell. In their struggle over his glasses, she had gotten quite high up and slipped. 

Instinctively he reached out and caught her before she hit the floor, right as Engie walked in. 

“Hey are you two alright-” Engie stopped abruptly. “Um… is this a bad time?” 

One of Medic’s hands was supporting the Psychologist’s head, and her uninjured leg was still wrapped around him, leftover from her attempts to steal his glasses.

It was dead silent, except for the sound of the doves cooing and the plastic of pens being shaken to the ground. Overall, it was a horribly cliche and compromising position. 

The Psychologist aggressively pulled herself upright using Medic’s shoulders so that Engie could see her face and unfortunate hair situation. “I am so so sorry Engie. Come in and sit down. I’m sure that Medic-” she pushed away from him “-will clean this up.” 

Medic hid most of his displeasure and let her hobble back to her chair, electing to kick the pens under a cabinet like a brat. As he did so, he noticed that the doves stayed around the Psychologist, perching on the back of her chair or sitting in her hair again. 

Engie was very polite about it, especially considering that he rarely saw the birds since he was in the lab the least out of all of them. 

And they had their session exactly like that, with Engie as his polite self and the Psychologist with birds and a few pens woven throughout her hair. 

Because Engie was one of the most stable and composed people you could find on the base, most of their scheduled sessions were just conversations. Medic often neglected to listen unless he heard his name, so he busied himself elsewhere in the lab. 

On that particular day, he had very little to do, and elected to eavesdrop. 

He tuned into what Engie was saying first.

“I don’t mean to pry, but um… are you alright here with Medic?” 

The Psychologist cleared her throat. “Oh, um, yes. That…. Um...that was just… stretching! Yes, it’s critical that I stretch the muscles in my leg. Medic was just helping me.” 

One would think that she would be better at lying, considering her profession. Medic wasn’t complaining, though. The last thing he needed was for her to turn his own teammates against him. 

Once again, Engie was too nice to comment on it. “Oh that’s good. He takes good care of you, yeah?” 

That certainly piqued Medic’s interest. 

The Psychologist paused. “I suppose. He does overdo it sometimes. I really don’t need him carrying me around. I have crutches.” 

“Well if you ask me,” Engie spoke with a cheeky lilt to his voice, “I think he’s quite interested in you.” 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Medic rolled his eyes. 

A scoff. “Certainly he’s interested in getting me out of his lab. He just likes pushing me out of my comfort zone to see what happens.” 

Medic couldn’t argue that one. 

“Well, if it’s any comfort, I think you’ve made a difference in everyone here, including him.” 

Well now Engie was just being ridiculous, the only change the Psychologist had made to him was to increase how many times he had to walk out of the lab in a day. 

Still, Engie was rarely wrong about things. He wasn’t even totally wrong when they all thought they were filled with tumors.

He heard Archimedes cooing as the Psychologist shifted in her seat. 

“I guess. Thanks Engie.” 

That was when the conversation shifted to something about Spy, and Medic stopped listening. Had she really changed him in some way? And if so, how? 

That had been the first time Medic had really thought deep and hard about his forced talks with the Psychologist. He only complied so Miss Pauling wouldn’t show up by his bedside and murder him in cold blood, but had the sessions really had some effect on him? 

Cue the end of his little trip to the blissful past, Medic opened his eyes, only to be greeted with the lifeless body of the woman who had apparently changed him. The doves refused to leave her side, and only Archimedes perched on Medic’s shoulder. 

He forced himself to look away, swearing in German.

Who was fooled by this? Probably only him. She wasn’t coming back. Not to this hell on earth, and not to him. 

Punching the wall, Medic cried out in frustration. Why did he care? Why was he so… angry? Who was he angry at? 

About an hour ago, he would have said the BLU Spy without hesitation. He killed her, and that was the end of it. But something in his mind nagged him; it told him that it wasn’t the Spy. It could’ve been Heavy. He was closer to her when she was backstabbed, he could have done something. 

He really hated to admit it, but eventually Medic came to the truthful conclusion while pressing his forehead to the wall. It was himself. He was furious at himself. 

In his days of youth, when he first had gotten certified as a doctor, he had lost a couple patients. To this day, he could remember their faces, despite his attempts to push their memory from his mind. In the present, he accepted their loss and had promised himself never to lose anyone else. 

He could have finished her procedure. He could have restrained her on the table. He could have ubered her, for God’s sake. All of the what-ifs threatened to overwhelm him.

Then, breaking through the turmoil and noise in his mind, he heard a cough. 

Whipping his head around as fast as humanly possible, Medic ran over to the Psychologist’s body. It was very possible that the grief was providing himself with auditory hallucinations, but if there was remotely a chance… 

And then it was if he had been given a gift that he was wholly unworthy of, the Psychologist opened her eyes and squinted at him. 

“M… medic?” That was the only word she was able to get out before her eyes widened and she pitched over the side of the table and vomited blood all over the floor. 

Concerning yes, but Medic could work with this. She was alive! He held back a whoop of celebration while he steadied her on the table so she didn’t fall off. 

Eventually she was done emptying her stomach of the blood that had likely collected there when she was stabbed. 

Medic spoke first, “You’re alive!” 

The Psychologist collapsed back on the table and shut her eyes, a frown working its way onto her face. “Sorry to disappoint you. Mama didn’t raise no bitch.” 

“I know!” Medic laughed jovially. “How did you escape?”

“What?” She was clearly not as joyful as he was. 

“Your soul,” Medic continued, “it left the Earth, right? I’ve died before, been to Hell, and escpaped. How did you leave Heaven?” 

She opened one eye and the ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. “You’re being awfully nice today, presuming that I went to Heaven.” 

Medic raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t?” 

“No, I did. Just messing with you.” The Psychologist sighed. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think it had something to do with some unfinished business. I just kind of talked my way back to the gates when I got there. Did you know they make you rewatch your death? Your face, oh man, wow.” 

“I’m starting to think that you just came back to insult me,” Medic huffed. 

The Psychologist laughed, “Not everything is about you, you big baby.” 

She then tried to sit up, much to Medic’s panicked dismay. “No, no! You’ll open the wound!” 

“Oh please, how bad-” she looked down at herself and the face she made clearly signaled that she would have thrown up again had she not just emptied her stomach a few minutes earlier. 

Hurriedly, she moved her eyes elsewhere, elsewhere being Medic’s concerned face. In an effort to distract herself from the nausea, she spoke again. “You just love undressing me, huh?” 

Medic hadn't even realized that she was clearly missing a shirt and a bra. It was necessary to remove them to complete the surgery, so he hadn’t given it any prior thought, but now… 

He quickly undid his vest and tossed it at her. “Here.” 

“Such a gentleman.” The Psychologist laughed at his embarrassment. She sighed contently and put on the vest. 

“It’s good to be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who said that you want to see art of the Psychologist, I've drawn a few things and so has Skyward_Legion! 
> 
> You can find our stuff here http://intjchangeable.tumblr.com/post/156646520347/intjchangeable-i-owe-it-to-you-birdpapi-she-is
> 
> And here http://intjchangeable.tumblr.com/post/157216641392/more-of-the-psychologist-for-those-of-you-who
> 
> Keep in mind when looking at our art that these are simply our headcanons. If anyone wants to submit themselves as the Psychologist, I can always send you the references for her outfit and toolkit. I want her to be a character everyone can project onto. Hey, who knows, if you have a selfie you love, maybe I can draw you as her?


	9. Trauma Center

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes I had a rough week, but you all really helped me get through it. I appreciate you all so much.

Medic could plainly see that the Psychologist was hiding something, or bothered at the very least. It was painfully obvious. And quite frankly, painful to watch. 

In the weeks he had shared a space with the woman, Medic had picked up a few tidbits of information about her and her habits while she was busy studying the others. For starters, she always was listening to something when she was working out a problem. Two weeks ago, it was the soundtrack from Heathers. Today it was swing music. Loud and fast. Also, she tended to watch what he was doing when she was stressed about something. 

Occasionally that particular habit of hers played to Medic’s advantage, and he could do certain things to throw her off her game even further. She would follow him with her eyes, never too invested in whatever he was doing, but if he were to talk to her, he’d get some interesting conversations. Today, however, he kept to himself. She was simply too tired to insult him today and he wasn’t really up to insulting her either. 

She had probably been too tired to do anything since the… incident. 

Medic had kept a careful eye on her, even continuing to help her around, despite the fact that she was no longer plagued with that broken leg. That didn’t stop various members of the team from skipping their appointments. He knew they meant well, not wanting to burden her-- her literal heart was still recovering-- but in Medic’s opinion, she needed the work to distract her. 

Spy still came in on schedule, which helped alleviate her condition, as Medic noted. He’d try and distract her as best he could with stories; truthful or not, Spy was good at getting his audience of one involved in some other world of his creation. He’d even bring her things on occasion. Yesterday he brought her a book. Medic hadn’t gotten close enough to find out what book it was in particular, but it was something French, no doubt. 

He could tell that Spy felt guilty to some degree. It was the BLU Spy disguised as him, someone she trusted, that had killed her. He knew as well as anyone, that subconsciously the Psychologist now associated death with his face, thus his effort to ease her pain. 

Yet, despite Spy’s support and attempts to repair the damage, and her excellent rate of healing, she still seemed off, and Medic refused to believe that it was the shock of dying that gotten to her. Not after all that post-mortem humor she had come up with upon waking up. 

Therefore, considering all these factors, Medic came to the conclusion that she was hiding something. Being the nosy bastard that he was, Medic was determined to find out. 

He made his way over to her desk calmly and tapped her on the shoulder. “Hello? Anyone home?” 

The Psychologist looked up at him with wide eyes and removed her headset. “You startled me.” 

Medic tried to smile. “It seems that I have…” He coughed. “You’ve um… been sitting too long. You need to walk around.” 

He tugged her hand away from the arm of her chair, helped her up, and despite the situation, attempted to make a joke. “We don’t want your new legs to atrophy, yes?” 

They Psychologist stood up, but that was as far as she cooperated. “...I don’t belong here, Medic.” 

Taken aback, he made an attempt to refute that claim in a light tone. “What do you mean? You work here.” 

She clearly was trying to compose herself in front of him, her lips folding into a forced straight line. She failed miserably. 

“It’s driving me mad, Medic!” 

“What is?” This somehow felt like a role reversal. 

The Psychologist poked him in the chest and got uncomfortably close. “This does not leave this room, do you hear me?” 

Medic gulped. He literally had nothing to fear from a woman whose heart would rupture if she overdid it with exercise, but she was intimidating anyways. Her urgency was rather alarming. After all, he had only told her that she needed to walk around. 

“You have my word.” 

A sigh escaped her before she let loose the words that would explain the past week. 

“I am not, in fact, here with permission from the Administrator.” 

There it was, the information Medic had been itching to get at for weeks. He didn’t have to torture it out of anyone, or bribe Spy to find out, it was laid out right in front of him. And frankly, he was disappointed. Maybe it would get more exciting, but something told him that it was as plain as she was making it out to be. 

“Is that all?” He waved a hand in the air, waiting for her to elaborate. 

She glared at him. “You would be horrible at my job.”

“Yes, we’ve established that.” Medic paused and sighed. “You don’t seem like the type to get worked up over something as simple as that.” 

That calmed the Psychologist down. She gestured for him to follow her out of the med-bay. “The whole team will know eventually, so let’s just walk and talk. I’m tired of this space.” 

Who knew information came this easy? Why she was opening up to him was another mystery, but Medic elected to take it one at a time. 

They took a left, heading nowhere in particular. 

After a few seconds outside the lab, the Psychologist began to speak. “I won’t disclose where I come from, but I am a Psychologist, that much is true.” 

Medic couldn’t help himself. “Who would’ve guessed?” 

“And to think I was just beginning to trust you.” She took a right. 

“Fine, fine. Continue, please,” he said, picking up his pace to keep up. 

She sighed and complied. “I have spent my entire life observing people. I have found universal similarities that connect all of us, and I have learned how to recreate the elements of anyone’s personality. It’s not dangerous, like what you do, but it is my life’s work. I’ve spent so much time traveling and observing outliers in the human race. But when I caught wind of this… this endless war, my mind was made up. All of you, with your abilities that defy logic, and sometimes modern science, are the most fascinating subjects I have ever come across. I’m sure you found the newspaper in my desk.” 

Medic raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that I went through your desk?” 

“I watched you do it. Multiple times.” 

“That’s fair.” 

She was leading them outside. Medic was reluctant to step outside the safety of the base, but he decided it was best to let her express her thoughts however she needed to. 

“Anyways, I was delighted to be here. The leg break? Easy as pie. The Medigun calibration? Painful, but such incredible subjects, such as yourself, were worth it. I was convinced that I could handle it. I trained, armed myself, and prepared for the worse. Clearly it wasn’t enough. I was almost ended, permanently. I love the work I’m doing here, but I don’t know if I can continue. I’ve never doubted myself before, but here… I’m outclassed.” She stopped walking when they reached the shadow of the building. 

Medic was quite unsure how to react to all of this information. It certainly told him that the Psychologist was as crazy about her work as he was, but he still didn’t understand the problem very clearly. Was she just in need of… another psychologist?   
He tried to say something helpful. “Maybe that fruit bat pituitary gland is causing an imbalance in your hormones. Would you like me to take a look?” 

Her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. “A fruit bat’s what?” 

Oops. Medic backpedalled. “I.. um… it’s exactly as I said…. The offer still stands.” 

“How about you do some more explaining instead?” The Psychologist backed him into a concrete corner. 

The lack of leverage that Medic possessed was amazing. He tried to defend himself. “I thought you knew. It cost about 9 billion dollars to bring you back. You’re worth quite a lot of money now.” 

All of the color drained out of her face. “I… This is the only time I will purposely neglect to ask a question. Please don’t ever tell me what you did.” 

He shrugged. “I can live with that.” 

“Let’s head back…” The Psychologist turned and retreated into the familiar building. She was still in the early stages of recovery, and tired easily. 

Medic didn’t fail to notice the flicker of movement in the shadows beyond the base.


	10. The Cleanest Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! We're 1000 hits and 10 chapters in! That's awesome! I don't think I could have written as much for this concept without you all! Skyward_Legion, Dr_Bug, and geige21, especially you three. You've all made this one of my favorite things to write, hands down.

As the weeks passed, the mercs gradually returned to their regularly scheduled sessions with the Psychologist. Even Miss Pauling found the time to stop in for a quick visit. Recently it had come to light that Miss Pauling was how the Psychologist was able to gain entry to the area; something about making her job easier. 

Medic was glad to see her regain her sense of purpose. Maybe she had gone too far, though. About a week ago she had suggested that she could go out into battle once more. That notion was not very well-received. Thankfully she had listened to reason.

Soon he’d be able to calibrate her fully, when her heart was fully recovered. She had such a nice heart. Very clean ventricles. He’d told her that one day to see what would happen, but she simply waved him off and stuck her nose in a book. 

She’d often do that, even during their sessions, citing their time in the shared space as enough time for working on issues. She had gradually distanced herself, as Medic had noticed. Kind of a shame, Medic enjoyed their playful banter. 

On a particular Thursday, after her appointment with Sniper (those were the most boring, they’d talk about birds and shooting technique all the time) he decided to mess with her. It wasn’t as easy as when she had a cast on and couldn’t walk anywhere without her crutches, but it was still fun. 

He could tease her about anything. Most of the time, she would remain unbothered and simply shit on his entire existence with some clever quip, but it was fun nonetheless. 

Medic stood behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. “Into rugged men now? Just last week it was the suave Frenchman!” 

The Psychologist waved a hand behind her back to slap his hand away. “Not now.” 

He frowned, just last week he had gotten an excellent response that involved his right hand and a feather. What aspect of her work was so important that she couldn’t insult him at the end of her workweek? He thought the difficulty and amount of work she had to deal with hadn’t increased at all. 

Medic tried again. “Oh come on now, pick one! I need to know when I’ll be delivering the baby!” 

There was the signature eyebrow twitch that signified that he had poked the bear. He waited in anticipation as she slowly stood up and turned around. 

“Oh? Then you have experience?” 

What? Of all the comebacks in the world, she had really dropped the ball here. It could have been anything, even some continuation of the joke from last week. Medic was confused to say the least. 

The Psychologist lowered her voice, “Sniper got a good job offer outside of Teufort… We were thinking of starting a family somewhere else... “ 

Medic was paralyzed. He was kidding! 

Managing to stutter out a few words, he raised his hands to the side of his head in a panic. “I was joking! Where did this come from?!” 

The devilish grin that materialized on her lips immediately told him that it was a big, fat, very-well told, lie. Incredible, he had fallen for such a dumb trick. He stared off into space, contemplating the reaction she had just elicited from him. 

The sound of laughter and a cheerful whoop broke his morbid stream of consciousness. 

“Amazing! I honestly didn’t think it would work!” The Psychologist’s face was lit up, and her eyes shone as she gripped tight onto one of her books. She continued, “I’m trying out a few new techniques, and that one… wow. That one's a doozy. Sorry you were the test subject, but I suppose you deserve it for implying that I’ve had relations with multiple men here.” 

Medic huffed, “Very clever.” 

“After all, it’s only been Sniper.” 

Medic choked. 

“Kidding!” The Psychologist spun around. “It’s incredible! So many ways to mess with you!” 

She laid a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. “It’s really the opposite of my job, but thank you for being such a good sport.” 

Medic grumbled, “You waste no time devising new ways to torture me.” 

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes and said, “You’ll get your turn when it’s time to calibrate the medigun again.” 

That prompted a frown from him. “You should know...I bought some local anesthesia. We were already nine billion over budget, so I figured, what’s one hundred more?” 

Her carefree attitude suddenly melted away. “I...um. Thank you. I know I don’t say that often enough. That actually… makes me feel a lot better about it.” 

Medic felt his face turn red and quickly waved her off. “The procedure is weeks off, don’t trouble yourself.” 

The Psychologist patted his shoulder that she had been holding. “I suppose so.” As she withdrew, she gestured towards the couch. “I have been neglecting your sessions. Why don’t we talk a bit before dinner?” 

“Hm,” Medic complied and sat down, taking off his glasses to rub them on his coat. “It’s been a while.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” She grabbed her file on him from his desk and began to flip through it. “Oh here it is. We were discussing your common traumas on the battlefield. You had mentioned that getting backstabbed troubled you, would you like to elaborate on that? Take me back to one of those moments.” 

Medic couldn’t help but stare at her. Did she really need him to tell her what getting backstabbed felt like? If he were being completely honest, he would say that none of the ways he had died could compare to watching the life leak away from her body. He’d much rather be backstabbed than witness that again. At least he’d come out of the ordeal alive. He hadn’t lost a patient on accident since his early days. Much less a patient that he talked to every day. 

“Medic? I know, it’s okay. Come back to me. I think you’ll feel better if you describe it out loud, but you don’t have to if it’s too much.” The Psychologist’s brow was furrowed in an expression of concern. 

Best to get it out, plain and simple. 

“It’s not getting backstabbed that concerns me. I’ve become numb to it. I know I’m safe, that I cannot die.” Medic shifted in his seat and leaned forwards to grab her hand. Hopefully he could get through to her. “I’m afraid of other people getting backstabbed.” 

The Psychologist looked taken aback, but she gripped his hand in some gesture of reassurance. “I learned my lesson, believe me. Is this something that bothers you?” 

Medic scanned her face, full of concern for him, of all people. What in the world had he done to become the subject of such a reaction? As far as he knew, all he’d ever done for her was keep her body alive, which could simply be classified as one of his duties. 

He eventually found something to say. “Every day. Don’t you want to know why the BLU spy targeted you? I can’t push it from my mind.” 

The woman whose hand he clutched firmly dropped her gaze to the floor. “Medic. I don’t think this is something we can talk out in here. It happened, and it could happen again. I’ve accepted that my time here could be limited if BLU decides to strike again before we’re ready. I don’t think they’d stop if I were to leave here either.” 

It hurt him so badly to see her resigned to a theoretical death. He stood, pulling her up with him and wrapping his arms around her. He could offer no solution to their problem, but it made him feel better to get the tactile reassurance that she was still there. 

The action itself was so uncharacteristic of him, Medic wondered if she was still messing with him. Empty thoughts ran through his head as he felt her gradually relax in his arms and rest her head against his shoulder.   
He afforded himself a gentle smile when Archimedes joined in and perched on top of her head. 

Maybe things would work out for her, for once.


	11. Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @smarchit on tumblr for helping me figure out where I wanted to take this chapter. 
> 
> And speaking of taking this fic places, I finally got my shit together and made an outline of what I want to happen. Not counting potential spinoff endings or requests for specific scenarios (all of those will go under the series, "The Psychologist and Friends"), I think there are about 4, 5, or 6 more chapters after this, depending on filler. 
> 
> For this chapter, I had some trouble writing it so um... #softangst

In the weeks leading up to the planned date of the calibration, Medic found himself becoming impatient. 

For a couple days, he’d been trying to make some time to evaluate the Psychologist’s condition and determine whether they could proceed with the calibration, but between their schedules and the recent increase in battles, they could never make it work. The checkup should have taken about 10 minutes, but the actual procedure itself… That would take hours. It’d be a miracle if they could carve out that kind of time. 

The unexpected delays and obstacles were really beginning to aggravate the both of them, and consequently, the other mercs. 

Just last night at dinner, the conversation had drifted in the direction of what Medic would rather not be thinking about: the consequences of not calibrating the medigun. 

In a rather unexpected turn of events, it had been the Engineer who had given the conversation the push in that direction. 

“So, Medic, when can we expect to see her in battle again?” He had said before he took a drink. 

He had referred to the Psychologist in such a manner because she was out of the room, electing to eat in her quarters while she allotted some quiet time for herself. Understandable, seeing how Soldier was her most recent patient for the day. 

Nevertheless, Medic became tense and measured his words carefully. “The Psychologist is still unfit for medigun calibration, therefore she is unfit for battle.” 

Spy rolled his eyes. “Yes, we are aware, but the question is when. When will she be fit?” 

“Yeah,” Sniper added his two cents to the conversation, “Whatever she shot me with… I was hitting everything. I couldn’t be stopped.” 

Similar interjections chorused throughout the table. 

Medic snapped. 

“You idiots! She’ll be fit when I clear her and not a moment sooner!” 

Unbelievable. She had DIED. Now, whether the mercs had any respect for the idea of mortality remained to be seen, since getting backstabbed only meant respawn for them. What a wild concept. 

The chatter died down, before Demo spoke. “She did well, Medic. You gotta let go a little. We can stop one Spy.” 

Unsure of how to get the message through their thick skulls, Medic stood up and walked away before he started throwing the silverware. 

The ridiculousness of it all helped take the edge of the topic away, but it quickly returned. Every day they spent waiting was an opportunity for a BLU to waltz right into the base and do away with the woman that had come to know him so uncomfortably well. 

Afterwards, the conversation had drifted on when the other mercs finally took the hint, but the damage had been done. Medic couldn’t push the thought out of his mind. Thus, upon waking the next morning, he took it upon himself to wordlessly escort a rather annoyed Psychologist to the bathroom, kitchen, and lab. He hadn’t been there the first time, so he would never let a BLU get to her whilst she poured herself a glass of water. 

Surprisingly, the Psychologist tolerated it for the better part of the day. She drew the line when he tried to spread her butter for her, giving no explanation to her, but insisting in his mind that a Spy could take hold of the knife and use it against her at any second.

That’s when she shoved him and said, “Medic. I don’t know where your sudden concern has come from, but you are more likely to kill me on accident than a BLU spy is right now.” 

Medic stood, dumbfounded, with the butter knife in his hand. “I… um... “ 

The Psychologist sighed and picked the bagel off of the plate and gestured for him to follow her. “We’re gonna talk this out, come on.” 

That was fair. 

In the lab, Medic was much too tense to lay down and elected to stand at his own table while the Psychologist pulled up his file. 

“So. Medic. Do you know why you’re acting this way?” She traced her index finger over a few lines of text while propping up her head with her other hand. 

She clearly wasn’t on edge as he was. Medic threw up his hands in frustration. “The team wants to see you in battle again.” 

The Psychologist gestured for him to go on, and when he didn’t, said, “I don’t get it. Where’s the issue there?” 

Medic was beginning to wonder if he was missing some crucial piece of information. He turned and pointed at the medigun, which was hanging from a mechanical arm. “I can’t heal you! We haven’t done the calibration!” 

A look of dissatisfaction appeared on the Psychologist’s face. “Why don’t we just do it now? I must be healed by now.” 

“And if the BLUs decide that now would be a good time to start a fight?” 

She frowned. “Then we have a little faith in our team. Engie can put up more dispensers while they wait for you.” 

Medic contemplated that for a moment. Ah, what the hell. He gave in. If she was confident that her body was healed, he could live with that.

“...Alright, let’s do it.” 

The Psychologist smiled triumphantly, said, “Finally,” and began to strip from the waist up. 

Operations and the like required a lack of obstruction, and they had already been through this three times before, so Medic found it quite odd when he felt his face heat up. 

Ignoring the sensation, he walked over to his supply closet and pulled out a few bottles. He figured that she trusted him enough now to let him put her under and not replace even more of her organs just for shits and giggles, but since she hadn’t brought it up, he figured that the local anesthetic would be enough for her. It would still hurt mildly and feel weird, but she could probably still talk to him normally. 

He heard the Psychologist speak as she climbed on to the operating table behind him. “Maybe I’ll actually be coherent enough to understand the process now.” 

Her tone of voice suggested that she much more relaxed that he was at the moment, and as he turned to set all his necessary tools on a side tray, he found her there in only her pants. Always the one to make herself at home. 

Medic pushed up his glasses and grabbed the scanner from an overhead extension, resolving to drive right into the work. 

“Skin first.” 

As he moved the scanner over her stomach, chest, and her back when she flipped over, Medic forced himself into a working mindset. He was essentially preparing her to be killed over and over again, but there was no room here for that horrifying image to replay in his head. No room for error. 

He paused, allowing the measurements to make themselves known to the system. The algorithm he and the engineer had designed to predict where the capillaries, veins, and minor arteries would be placed in any body would do it’s work soon. 

“Time for the muscle. Ready?” Medic filled a syringe with an anesthetic. 

The Psychologist chuckled. “More ready than I’ve ever been on this table.” 

And with that, Medic started to inject the numbing chemical. He was actually looking forward to this procedure quite a bit. He didn’t have to worry about hurting her and the finished project would definitely put his mind at ease. 

He could feel vibrations under his hands as the Psychologist laughed. 

“That feels so weird!” 

She was smiling, which was an odd thing to be doing when one’s nervous system was becoming desensitized to the world around it, but Medic had no complaints. It was leagues better than her passing out from the pain. 

He allowed himself to laugh a little. “As it should. Almost done with your torso, and then we can go in…” 

Once he was finished injecting the anesthetic, he took a scalpel to her chest, making a clean incision from the clavicle to the lower stomach. Then, pulling back the skin and adipose tissue, he scanned the major muscle groups visible. 

It was a fairly simple process, leaving little room for error, but Medic was careful anyways. 

Meanwhile, the Psychologist watched in awe. She looked at his hands, her own muscles, and the medigun keeping her blood within her body to a reasonable degree. She would occasionally ask what he was doing or what part of the body he was in when she couldn’t see or feel it very well. Medic answered all her questions with a calm smile. He loved the fact that she shared his fascination with the body and his thirst for knowledge. The whole ordeal was a huge contrast to their previous encounters on the operating table.

At one point she asked, “Medic, why did you want to become a doctor?” 

She should have come to that answer through means of her own inferences, but Medic figured that she wanted to hear it from him. While they were there, he had no issue complying. 

“Well,” he began, “I think put most simply, it’s similar to the reason you pursued your line of work; To satisfy some curiosities.” 

The more he thought about it, Medic supposed that he had fallen in love with the body. He grew up seeing the most serious illnesses, the most morbid maladies. As a child, he always resented the fragility of the body for being susceptible to these biological killers, but over time he came to realize just how powerful and how beautiful it could be. How a heart beat in time, what could be accomplished when the muscles worked smoothly, they all were functions of the body he had to know more about. 

It was a weird thing to explain, but Medic tried his best as he continued to talked while he worked. 

“It’s like finding new pieces of art every day. You’re not the creator, but you certainly can appreciate it.” He accented his point by poking around gently where he knew she would feel it. 

The Psychologist stifled a laugh. “Hey!” 

Medic smiled and continued his work, periodically opening up different parts of her body and resealing them with the medigun. Soon, her whole upper body was completed. All they needed to do was to double-check the measurements. 

As Medic began to run over the numbers, confirming their accuracy, the Psychologist wiped excess blood from her arms and torso and pulled her bra and shirt back over her head. 

“All clear?” 

There was a pause before Medic felt satisfied enough with his work to confirm. “...Yes. You are officially in the medigun database.” 

There was a loud and rather uncharacteristic whoop of excitement from the woman. 

“Finally!”

For the first time in weeks, Medic felt himself relax. Old age was now the only thing that could kill the Psychologist while she resided in Teufort, and judging by all of the organs he had just gotten a marvelous view of, neither of them had to worry about that any time soon. 

He watched as the Psychologist stretched. Today was probably one of the only days he had ever seen her in full health, with the day they met being the only other time. Fascinating how so much had changed since then. 

“Medic?” The Psychologist called out to him.   
He realized too late that he had been staring and tried to answer normally. “Yes?” 

The only reaction he got from her was a funny look while she said, “Are you alright? You’re not too tired are you? You were spacing out.” 

Medic straightened his posture. “Of course not, just thinking.” 

The Psychologist hit him with some of her trademark wit, “Better not do too much of that! You’ll hurt yourself during battle tomorrow!” She laughed and continued, “Don’t worry, I have your back. I can think for the both of us.” 

Medic broke out in a cold sweat. That’s right. She could head into battle now, and he’d be forced to watch her die over and over again, even though he knew she’d come back. 

He fumbled over his next words. “You… um… uh.. can’t! The data in the medigun isn’t fully processed!” 

The unimpressed look sent his way hit him like a ton of bricks. She didn’t need a degree to tell what a load of shit that was. He had just told her that she was all set. Nice. 

“Medic. I’ll be fine.” She stepped toward him. “I trust the technology. I trust you.” 

Oh, those words would be the death of him, costing him at least three more souls. Medic bit his lip. “Please. You have your work here. Wouldn’t you be happier reading about us? Figuring us out?” Ordinarily he would hate someone to pry, but he would do anything to avoid a repeat of her death, even if it meant nothing for her longevity. 

The Psychologist laid a hand on his shoulder. “I was originally going out there to understand a new side of each of you, but now I believe I need to be out in the field even more. I need you to understand that I’m not going anywhere now. We’re going to fix this fear of yours, even if it means I need to take a few for the team.” 

Medic scanned her face for any signs that she was joking, that she’d actually much rather spend her time decoding what Pyro or Soldier said on a daily basis, away from where he didn’t have to watch her die over and over again. He found none. 

He lost his composure. 

In a sudden motion he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, bending down to bury his face in the crook of her neck. 

He mumbled, “Please.” 

He could feel her resolve wavering, and he held out hope that she’d change her mind and stay away from it all. 

But she spoke in a more hushed manner and pulled him so that they were eye to eye. “Medic. It’s hurting you to think about this and I don’t know why. I have to know.” 

Unbelieveable. She hadn’t picked up on something before he did. 

Medic took a breath to calm himself. “Do you really want to know?” 

The Psychologist nodded, but the look in her eyes was already enough confirmation. 

Sighing, Medic awkwardly kissed her forehead, then each of her cheeks, and her nose, before meeting her lips. It was strange, but not unpleasant, like satisfying an itch in a place on the body that normally would never bother him, like his ankle. 

She looked up at him with wide eyes but didn’t say a word, so Medic spoke, “If you really need to be out there, can I request that you stay near Heavy and I?” 

The Psychologist sighed and smiled, “I think I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like this concept? Want to see more of these characters? Check out "The Psych and the Rigger", which is a collab between @Geige_21 and I. 
> 
> I'm always open to collabs like these, so let me know what you all think if this is up your alley!


	12. The Battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to get this chapter out before my week gets super hectic. Thanks again for all of your support!

Medic had a lot of trouble sleeping that night. 

On one hand, he was on cloud nine. It was an incredible relief to finally calibrate the Psychologist to the medigun. He could take his eyes off of her without worrying that she’d be gone when he looked back. Not that he wanted to look away at this point. Since that moment they had shared in the lab, Medic had been thinking about her nonstop. 

The last time he could remember kissing someone, it was when he was saying goodbye to his grandmother as a child. The Psychologist was certainly not his grandmother. No, she was very far from it. And he wasn’t a little boy anymore, either. The lack of distance between the two of them in that moment had been dizzying. 

Medic couldn’t stop thinking about it, and he was making himself a little paranoid. She had smiled, but she hadn’t said anything about it either. He could certainly ask her about it tomorrow, but that meant he had to go to sleep… and therein lied his problem. 

On the other hand was that haunting question: Why did the BLUs want the Psychologist dead? That first attack… it was so sudden. Usually the two teams had battles planned out for them by the Administrator, that were set to begin at a certain time and be held in a certain location. They never pushed farther than halfway across the battlefield either, though they clearly had the upper hand for most of the day. 

Medic squeezed his eyes shut, his head swirling with positive and negative emotions alike, most of them relating to the Psychologist. He certainly enjoyed her presence now, but life had been so simple before her arrival at the base. There were two things he wanted to do in life, study the human body and drink the occasional beer. Very simple indeed. 

He still wanted to do those things, but when he tried to picture those activities, she was always there. She was there, petting Archimedes while they both read a book on the nervous system. She was there, with her head resting on his shoulder while they shared a good beer by the mostly unnecessary fireplace of the base. Medic didn’t even know if she drank, but it was his imagination so he let the image persist. 

Eventually, sleep did find him, but it didn’t clear his mind. In the morning he woke up with the strange sensation that he had dreamt of something definitely not unpleasant and not unrelated to the things he had went to bed thinking about. 

He laid in his bed, blindly and lazily reaching out for his glasses that he had left on his nightstand. That’s when it hit him, today was one of the scheduled dates for a battle. 

Medic groaned and sat up, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose while the details of today’s battle came back to him. No matter how much the Psychologist reassured him she was fine, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to relax until the battle was over and she was standing in front of him, in one piece. 

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, walking over to his closet and pulling out a pair of the same military-issue pants he always wore. He examined the fabric absent-mindedly. The Psychologist didn’t have any pants like these, minus the ones she had worn that were actually his and much too big for her. Medic wondered what she would wear in lieu of those ridiculously high waisted pants she wore most of the time. 

As he continued with his morning routine, Medic let himself shut off his thoughts. He’d have plenty of time to think in an hour or so. 

Then he heard a knock on the door. 

“Medic!” A familiarly feminine voice called through the wood, “You’re late. I hope you’re awake in there!” 

Shit. Medic glanced down at his watch that he was in the process of putting on. The Psychologist was right. He would normally be finishing his coffee at this hour. 

Fastening the watch, he shouted through the door, “Sorry! I’ll be out in a minute.” 

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find the Psychologist still waiting for him, unconsciously spinning the barrel on one of her guns. 

“Someone’s prepared,” Medic commented, gesturing to her utility belt full of chemicals and weapons. 

As they began to walk, the Psychologist said, “I figured it would help you relax a little. I can see the tension in your neck right now.” 

“You’re not even looking at me.” Medic hated to admit it, but she was right, as usual. 

She laughed, “I don’t need to, your voice gives it away.” 

He’d never get tired of that; how she seemed to know him better than he knew himself. A month ago, it would have annoyed the hell out of him, but she never failed to impress him. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Thank you for the thought.” Medic fell in step with her. “I know I asked you to stay near me… but please don’t feel like you have to. The team needs your help.” 

The woman next to him raised an eyebrow. “And you’ll be okay?”

Medic made a face. “I could handle myself on the battlefield before you arrived.” 

“I meant without knowing where I am.” 

“Oh.” He followed her around a corner. “I...realized that was unfair of me to ask that of you. There are other members of the team that need your help.” 

The Psychologist looked at him in surprise and then smiled gently. “I’m proud of you.” She then paused, kissed him on the cheek, and turned down another hallway. “I think today is going to be a good day.” 

And just like that, they were bathed in sunlight, while the Administrator began the countdown to pandamonium. 

~~~~

It was hot as hell, like it usually was in the cloudless wasteland that they fought over every day. The ground was parched and the air was scorching, but through years of experience, the mercs knew how to handle it. 

The heat used to bother Medic, after all, Germany certainly wasn’t this hot on a daily basis, but over time he had grown to experience an 85 degree day as a normal day.

The battle itself was slow going. They were attacking today, trying to reclaim some territory from the BLUs, who had seemed to have the upper hand as of late. 

Medic was healing Soldier when he first heard the Psychologist over the com. 

“BLU Pyro is down.” 

Surprise washed over Medic. That was the first elimination of the day for their team. He maintained his composure but let himself smile. The day was looking promising. 

On the way to the control point, he caught a glimpse of the Psychologist, running behind Sniper, probably backing him up on his way to a new perch. She was sweaty and splattered with blood, but she was alive and that’s all Medic really cared about. 

He pulled out his syringe gun, and aimed at a passing BLU Scout, warning his teammates of the approaching enemy. As the day progressed, they had regained territory at an exponential rate. It was only a matter of time before the final point was under their control.

That’s when he heard a yell over the com link. 

“ALRIGHT YOU FOCKIN-”

And that’s when it cut out. 

Medic raised a hand to his ear. “Is everything alright over there?” 

The Psychologist answered, “I’ll let you know in a few minutes. I may have shot Scout with Wrong instead of Right.” 

“What?” Medic ducked behind a wall while reloading his syringe gun. 

“Cortisol and testosterone.” 

That’s all he heard before the link cut out. 

Medic followed Heavy around a corner as he tried to figure out what she was talking about. 

That’s when he saw Scout take a flying leap, tackle a BLU Demoman, and proceed to beat the shit out of him with his bare hands. And suddenly it all became clear. She had accidentally shot him with a mixture of hormones meant to induce blind, terrifying, berserker rage. 

His second thought came as Scout turned away from the Demoman to direct his full fury at them. 

“HEAVY SHOOT!” Medic screamed as the Scout barreled towards them at 20 miles per hour. 

Heavy hesitated as Medic struggled to pull out his syringe gun. Scout had no idea who they were, but he was definitely going to try and rip their heads off if they didn’t do something about it. 

Fortunately, Heavy realized what was going on and mowed down Scout with a second of fire.   
“What...what is wrong with Scout?” The loud whine of Heavy’s gun was just beginning to quiet down. 

“Yeah, bloody hell! I could hear the yelling from over here!” Demoman interjected over the com link. 

The line barely had time to cut out before the Psychologist spoke, “Sorry guys, he ran in front of one of my shots. I’ll explain later, but just be aware that I’ve been shooting BLUs full of hormones. They won’t be thinking clearly.” 

Heavy slowly turned to Medic. “Doctor…” 

“I know.” Medic switched over to the medigun. “Let’s meet her over there. I need to see this for myself.” 

They ran through a clearing to where Medic assumed the Psychologist was. It was downright idiotic of him not to check what weapons she was carrying. For any of them not to check. 

He eventually found her behind cover, reloading her pistols. She gave him a terse smile when he approached. 

“Sorry about that.” 

Medic was at a loss for words, but he managed to scrounge some up. “I thought you were strictly a psychologist!” 

She sighed. “I am, but is anyone that linear here? I said I was prepared for this place. Sorry, I didn’t give you any warning.” 

Medic let himself breathe. “It’s alright. We’ll need to talk about this with the team, but I think it’s working pretty well-” 

And suddenly the world was moving in slow motion. The familiar flicker of a Spy decloaking was in plain sight, right behind the Psychologist. Armed with his trademark knife, he looked down over the two of them as Medic watched in horror. 

Then he blinked, and the Spy was on the ground, clutching his face, with the Psychologist standing over him, armed with some ungodly weapon. It was like the unholy child of a knife, brass knuckles, and a tazer. 

She let out a whoop. “It worked!” 

Medic stood up put a hand on her shoulder, trying to gain her attention and steady himself at the same time. “What the hell is that?” 

“The Triple Threat.” The Psychologist held up her hand for him to see. “I figured Spy would try the same thing, so I’ve been listening all day.” 

Amazing. Medic slowly began to realize that she wouldn’t let herself die so easily as he had feared. 

“And the best part,” she continued as she lifted the BLU spy by his collar, “He’s not dead. We can get some good information out of him.” 

The BLU Spy groaned. His mask had some burn marks on it and his nose looked broken, but otherwise he was pretty intact. 

Once they captured the point, he was as good as theirs for the day.


	13. Cheers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough couple of weeks, but there's something a little extra in this chapter to make up for the wait ;)
> 
> Also, I wanted to ask, would any of you be interested if I did a Sniper fic? He and Medic are my two favorites.

The Psychologist’s debut battle turned out to be a big success, despite the initial hiccups. After collecting the BLU Spy, the whole team was able to push through to the control point and be declared victors by the Administrator. 

They returned to base bloody, sweaty, and drop-dead tired, so nothing was unusual about the win, minus the Psychologist being present. 

She was keen to begin questioning the BLU Spy as soon as they arrived, despite her own exhaustion, but Medic was more enthused about celebrating their first victory in quite a while. It was obvious that she had been a huge benefactor to the team. His relief that she had not once been eliminated the whole battle was making him quite giddy and just as eager to celebrate as, say, Scout. 

He convinced her to let Engie and Demo take care of the BLU Spy for a while, and led her to the “parlor” where the team usually would let loose after a rough week. He hadn’t seen her in the room yet, but now was about as good of a time as any. 

The room itself was sparsely furnished; two mysteriously-stained couches, a coffee table, an armchair, and a fridge were haphazardly arranged within the confines of garishly red walls. Ordinarily the Psychologist would have stood out, with her put-together look and conduct, but right after battle… she fit right in. 

Medic watched as she collapsed into the nearest couch, rolled her neck back, and closed her eyes. They were alone for now, but the peace was welcome.

“This room smells like an abysmal combination of vomit, beer, and deli meat, and this couch is just fluff on a frame, but I have never been so happy to sit down.” 

Medic laughed and sat down beside her. “It’s the very least of what you deserve. You boosted the team to victory today.” 

“Hmm… even when I hit Scout with Wrong?” She slyly smiled, opening her eyes and turning her head to look at him. 

“Oh, I think I can live with that.” Medic scooted a little closer, eliminating what little distance between them that the small couch allowed for. “Anything for science.” 

They were face to face now, and she was practically on top of his lap. Medic could feel the heat radiating off of her skin as one of her hands ghosted over his and moved up his arm. He let one of his hands rise to hold the side of her face gently, brushing a thumb over her cheek while she stared at him in wonder. He let himself enjoy her eyes for a lasting second before leaning in. 

In his past, Medic had devoted himself to the studying medicine and rising out of his family’s financial toil before eventually moving on to studying to satisfy his own curiosities. He had never looked at another person like this. He had certainly never touched anyone else like this. 

His right hand remained near her face, but as they pressed themselves into the couch he wasn’t entirely sure where his left hand was. It could have been a thigh, an ass, or a hip, but it mattered very little when he was trying to find purchase in the exchange. Her hands, hands that he had known to be always holding a pen and paper, were tangled in his hair, but all that really mattered were her lips, which were of the utmost importance and deserved the most attention. 

When they both came up for air, Medic watched her lean back and start laughing. She had already been a mess from the battle, but her hair was half out of the bun she had put it in and her shirt was untucked. 

“I suppose that was overdue.” She left her hands on his shoulders. 

Medic shifted, moving to hold her waist. “I suppose so. A little silly, considering there aren’t many parts of you that I’m unfamiliar with.” 

The Psychologist flushed red and opened her mouth to probably make an incredible witty rebuttal, but was interrupted by the door flying open. 

“Doc! There is no time for cannibalism!” Soldier forced his way through the door, potentially breaking the hinges. “We must celebrate! The American way!”   
What that meant, he didn’t say, but Medic scrambled to get off of the Psychologist and to a respectable distance. He was just grateful that it had been Soldier who had barged in. The incident would be forgotten in no time. 

Although, it did raise some questions for the two of them. They had never been hiding their relationship, which is what it must have been at this point, but they had always interacted within the confines of the med bay. They had never talked about it… and then again, they had never been all over each other like that before. It was fairly new territory. 

He watched as the Psychologist stood up to stop soldier from breaking the fridge over in the other corner of the room. She glanced back at him with an amused smile as the other mercs began to filter in the room that was much too small for them and their personalities. 

The rest of the day was filled with drinking, drinking games, and other drinking-related celebrations. Normally, on a day like today- a Friday and a day of victory- Medic would get shitfaced drunk. On this particular occasion he held back and resigned himself to only a couple beers while watching what he normally was a part of. The Psychologist didn’t touch any of the alcohol at all, as Medic had suspected would be the case. He held back from a rowdy game of cards to talk to her. 

“Not a drinker?” He raised the bottle in his left hand in question. 

The Psychologist smiled and sat back in her seat. “You wouldn’t be either if you knew the brain like I do.” 

Medic laughed. “Fair point. I suppose this scene is quite fascinating for you, though.”

“But of course,” The Psychologist gestured to the Engineer who was trying to duct tape darts together. “I appreciate your restraint, though. I wouldn’t want everyone in this building to be incapable of conversation.” 

That’s when drunk Sniper took that as his cue to enter. 

“‘Ello, ma’am… Fancy meetin’ ya here…How’re things backn’ the office?” He lazily slurred and supported himself with one hand against the wall. 

The Psychologist smiled and addressed Sniper as if he was sober, “Good, thanks for asking, Sniper. Are you still available for our appointment at 2 tomorrow?” 

Medic contained his laughter, he had been really missing out on these antics. 

Sniper sloppily took off his sunglasses. “‘Sure thing...smarty pants…” 

And that’s when he collapsed. 

The Psychologist rolled her eyes. “See, I like Sniper. He’s a good man, knows what he wants, and then alcohol ruins it all.” She paused. “Here, help me get him on his side so he doesn’t suffocate in his own barf.” 

Medic obliged and the two of them stood up. “I suppose you’re right. Although, Sniper doesn’t normally drink himself into oblivion like this. He must have been really happy with how the team performed today.” 

The sound of shattering glass echoed in the background as the Psychologist frowned and said, “It was almost too easy. I… I have a bad feeling about today.” 

Then the bomb went off.


	14. The Future?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough month! I can tell you all that! But I can promise more content in the future!
> 
> And in the meantime, I made a Discord server (it's like Skype but better) for TF2! To join, click here https://discord.gg/kBnFHgY
> 
> I'm not sure if you have to make an account, but I hope you can all join. I really enjoy talking to you! 
> 
> Again, thanks so much for all the support, and without further ado...

Dust trickled down from the ceiling and the lights flickered. The explosion had rocked the building and knocked everyone but Heavy off of their feet.

When Medic got up, he was met with the unsurprising sensation of dust in the air. Someone across the room sneezed. He helped the Psychologist up and they dusted each other off.

“Is everyone alright?” He called out into the dim room.

A chorus of groans rang out in the room and about one slurred, “Fuck off” from someone whose name rhymes with “Sniper”. He would have an incredible headache tomorrow. Medic noted that and turned to face the Psychologist.

“We’re all here, and there’s a BLU Spy in the base somewhere, I’m sure you can put two and two together." She said this, all the while coughing and wiping dust out of her eyes.  
Medic rubbed his glasses on his shirt. “Yes, unfortunately. I figure that they’re long gone by now, and doubtless helped themselves to the intelligence on the way out.”

He neglected to mention that all of this was highly unprecedented, and would normally be highly condemned by the Administrator. Why wasn’t she doing anything at all? The nagging feeling in the back of his head grew.

The Psychologist made her way over to the crooked door. “Let’s go and see, then. Shall we?”

Medic frowned but kept silent, following her out the door and down the halls. It was painfully apparent where the damage was done, a whole chunk of the hallway was missing and rubble was piled on the floor. He as the observed as the Psychologist poked her head through the opening, nervously eyeing the ceiling and the spiderwebs of cracks in the concrete.

The light of dusk filtered in through the dust as the Psychologist judged it safe to step out into the desert. Medic followed and watched as she inspected the seared ground.

“I have a suspicion that this isn’t normal.”

It was a simple statement, but Medic knew that she had meant it to be a pointed question. Funny how he had grown to recognize her speech patterns, though she definitely knew his a thousand times better. He followed her as she rubbed the scorched earth between her fingers.

She continued, “Is it worth it to check and see if Spy is still there?”

Medic leant up against the cracked wall. “Maybe. Might as well check if he stole anything good on his way out.”

They climbed back into the building through the hole in the wall and back to where the BLU Spy was being held. As suspected, the room was vacant and the chair tossed aside.

The Psychologist kicked the fallen furniture. “Dammit! This was the perfect opportunity to examine the differences between the REDs and BLUs!”

Medic watched as she sighed and returned the chair to its original place in the center of the room. That’s when it hit him; he had forgotten that he had his own double on the BLU side of things. What did she think of his own personal demon? And if she were to get her hands on him, would she find that he’s an exact copy of the man she knows? Disturbing.

“I’ve never asked,” The Psychologist began, “but what does the ‘intelligence’ entail?” She rested her hands behind her neck.

Medic raised an eyebrow, but was unable to speak when she elaborated.

“I mean, I know that our Spy is an opportunist. He’s confident and wouldn’t be averse to taking advantage of a situation, but it would have to be worth the risk. He’s not rash like Scout, and wouldn’t risk his freedom for something that wasn’t worth it.” She sighed and let her hands fall.

Now knowing the nature of her question, Medic spoke, “Codes and battle plans. The Administrator mandates that we keep them all in the same place so that each team can access the others’, should they be up to the challenge.”

“Hmmm..” The Psychologist gestured for him to follow her out the door. “I’d imagine they’d have enough of an advantage to counteract my presence on the battlefield.”

Medic opened his mouth to reaffirm her statement, when the terrible screeching of the loudspeaker rang throughout the base.

“Right you are.”

The voice, all too familiar, belonged to the ringmaster of their battles, The Administrator.

Then it clicked. Of course. The surprising coordination in battle, the random battles, the lack of enforcement of traditional rules, it was all her.

Medic pinched his nose. “What do you want?” He could hear her thin-lipped smile from there.

“Don’t get your lederhosen in a knot, Medic. I want to talk, and I know you’re both very good at that. You cannot possibly be ignorant to what’s wrong with the picture when you all charge into battle.” Her tone was sharp, but neither of them were dead yet, so things were going rather well.

The Psychologist placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “I can handle this.”

She then spoke clearly to the loudspeaker in the corner of the room. “I’m here. What do you wish to discuss?”

“Not so fast,” The Administrator interjected, “I need some… collateral. You both will meet with me at the coordinates I instructed the Spy to leave under the chair you so graciously kicked.”

True to her word, when Medic turned over the chair, there was a string of numbers on paper taped to the bottom.”

Obviously testing her ground, the Psychologist folded her arms. “And if we refuse?”

“Then I cannot guarantee that your extraction will be painless.”

Hard to argue. The Administrator was a powerful woman in her own right.

The Psychologist sighed. “Fine. We’ll meet you in approximately 48 hours.”

“See you, then.”

Medic watched as the Psychologist leant back against the wall.

“Perfect…” 

~~~

Desiring some privacy, they returned to the med bay to talk plans. Medic found himself questioning the need for a plan, and seriously considering just grabbing the Psychologist and running. Where? Who knows. She’d find them. But at least they’d have more time on this miserable planet. 

It was painfully obvious that the Administrator could do whatever talking she needed over the intercom or through her minions. There was no reason she needed them there in person other than to detain them or kill them on sight. Out of the range of respawn, no less. All of the painful ways that she could do away with them ran through his head. 

“So… What do you think she wants us to do? I don’t want to stay out of the fight, but I also don’t feel like dealing will all these advantages that she hands the BLU team.” The Psychologist sat down on her desk.

Medic blinked. “I do not think that you realize what is going on here. The Administrator cares very little for human life.” 

“Hm.” The Psychologist didn’t bat an eye. “Sounds familiar, actually.” 

Hurtful. Mostly frustrating that she didn’t get the point, but still hurtful. He stepped closer and sat beside her. “Look. She obviously has an issue with us, and the Administrator has no problem simply eliminating her issues. Even I am replaceable. As long as her war machine functions, she is satisfied.” 

The Psychologist craned her neck to look up at the stained ceiling. “Then what do you suggest we do? Run? Let her goons kill us over and over here? It seems to me that if things get tight, our best chance lies in attacking.” 

Medic considered this. It seemed like a trap, but they could risk it all for the ultimate freedom. He tried not to let his imagination delve into that particular possibility. What would it be like to live outside Teufort again? He watched as the Psychologist twirled a pen between her fingers. A future that didn’t revolve around an endless cycle of killing… He hadn’t even considered it before. 

“So say we meet her, how would you keep her occupied? How would we go about defending ourselves?” He questioned her not because of a doubt in her abilities, but a trust and genuine curiosity as to how she would work her magic. 

The Psychologist tossed the pen up into the air. 

“Good question.”


	15. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL! It's been over 3 months, but maybe I needed that. I came back to read my work, and was pleasantly surprised. I'm still getting back into the groove of the story, but I'm excited to be back nonetheless. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Under the assumption that the rest of the base harbored no BLUs now that the message had been delivered, they returned to the “parlor”. By now some of the mercs were missing; they probably went out to inspect the damage. Now, only Sniper, Heavy, and Scout remained. Sniper was still lying drunkenly on the ground, Heavy was calmly making a sandwich from the questionable ingredients in the fridge, and Scout was pacing the room, likely unsure what to do with himself. 

Medic wondered what their take on the situation was. He could take an educated guess and say that this particular group was the most indifferent out of the bunch. Sniper was too drunk to form opinions, but if he could he would be indifferent. His job was his job, though he might be sad if the Psychologist died. Scout liked kicking ass and Miss Pauling, neither of which would be affected. Heavy was the same, just substitute Miss Pauling with sandwiches and his family. Medic found himself becoming more and more agitated as he thought about his teammates in hypotheticals. He elected to stop himself before he hypothetically sucker punched Scout. 

He watched as the Psychologist collapsed onto the couch, covering her face with her hands, likely rethinking her resolution to not drink. 

Suddenly, she broke the cloud of white noise in the room. “Sniper.”

A low moan came from the floor.

“Sniper,” the Psychologist repeated herself, “I will give you pain meds for that hangover if you lend me your van.” 

Medic furrowed his brow. “Where and when did you get those?” 

“Your medicine drawer and you’ll never know.” The Psychologist smirked. She seemed hardly phased by the notion of her possibly imminent end. It was a relief in a way, to experience her sharp wit like she was still new to the base. 

He clicked his tongue. “I’ll need those back when we return.” 

“Of course.” 

~~~ 

Too tired to track down each individual merc, they returned to the med-bay, where the Psychologist promptly collapsed on her own couch. This time, she passed out immediately. 

As for himself, Medic fell into his simple chair. No matter how nonchalant the Psychologist acted about what they didn’t know, Medic couldn’t ignore the ‘what-if’s swirling through his head. He glanced over at the mess of papers on her desk. For the majority of her time at the base, all of her documents had been stored and organized with careful precision. A little like the Psychologist herself, he noted. Weeks ago she wouldn’t be caught dead snoring, mouth wide open, on her own evaluation couch. He’d carry her to her own bed later. At least he could save her from a simple backache. 

He felt like such a useless piece of shit. Medic knew that there was no real point to the fighting over Teufort and this dusty wasteland. He only signed up for this hell when he came to the conclusion that it was indeed an active atrocity, but one he could exploit. In his years, he’d developed the medigun and syringe gun with what he learned from all the ways he had met an end. This woman came to further her own research in a similar manner, something he of all people could appreciate, but she could very well be paying for it with her life. She was an intruder in the contentious world of Australium. 

Eventually, Medic decided to make the two of them something to eat. His last meal had been yet another dry bagel during battle. Not exactly desirable. 

He glanced once more at the Psychologist before heading out to the kitchen

The kitchen itself was vacant, but the dining room that was attached was occupied by the Demoman in his normal Friday state, meaning drunk beyond comprehension. Pretty good company, he’d say. 

Striking up a conversation while searching the fridge for something substantial, Medic greeted Demo. “Just a normal Friday, huh?” 

“But of course,” he spoke with a slight slur, “bitch can blow the whole base tah bits, but can’t change the day of tha week.” 

Medic fished some cooked noodles, cheese, and an onion out of the fridge. “Right you are…. right you are…” 

The rhythmic sound of a knife against a cutting board was interrupted by an exclamation from the more intoxicated man. 

“Don’t give up lad! She’s a keepah!” 

Medic didn’t look up, but raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”   
Demo continued, “Just tha other week, the lass asked me about chain reactions. Took ah break from mah obvious problems and just asked about work and family. I don’t think Spy even knows as much about me.” 

Interesting. Medic had never listened in on any of her sessions, too engrossed in his own work to listen to the same stories he had heard over the years. Weird to imagine she had gotten more bits and pieces of life stories in a month than he had in years. 

“Well,” he began carefully,”I’m certainly not planning on it. She is an asset to the team.” 

Demo laughed heartily. “Who are ya foolin? Ya love havin her around! I’m not blind, lad.” 

Medic shook his head, so much for the initial secrecy they had meant to maintain involving their relationship. He wondered when Demo had found out; he was a sharp man, but it hadn’t been very long.

Eventually Medic was finished with his crude spatzle without the spatzle. 

He promptly returned to the Med-Bay, where the Psychologist was thankfully still sleeping. 

Setting down the dish on her desk, Medic shook her awake, laughing at her initial confusion. 

“Eat something before you atrophy.” He handed her a fork and pulled up a chair for himself, while taking a bite.

Rubbing her eyes, the Psychologist obliged. “I’m going to make the assumption that this ‘something’ qualifies as food.” 

Back to insults? Medic could live with that for the time being. 

“Sorry, I forgot that you have trouble identifying what qualifies.” He gestured to the small magnets on her desk.

An incredibly opportunistic jab that pointedly reminded the Psychologist that she had almost eaten one a week ago at a particular moment of weakness and exhaustion. 

She laughed through a mouthful of food, humbly accepting defeat while setting down her fork. “Well played.”

Maybe they’d never go back to the pointed and polite hostility, and Medic was now completely okay with that. He was willing to pack up the chess board. 

He reached across the desk and took her hand, turning it over to massage her palm with his thumb. They had all of tomorrow to prepare, but it almost seemed like too much. The suspense was crushing. This wasn’t his last night with the Psychologist, but it felt like his last night as himself. 

His thoughts were interrupted when she reached under the desk and placed a notebook he had never seen before in front of him. 

“I’d like you to have this.” 

There were probably a million reasons why she was giving him whatever this was, but she offered none. It was obviously important to her. 

Once again, Medic felt like a useless piece of shit. He had nothing to offer. What could one offer a woman like her? To his knowledge, she had everything she wanted to pursue her work. 

Frowning, he dropped his fork and stood up to walk over to her side of the desk. He then proceeded to lift her out of her chair and give her the most sincere hug he had ever given anyone in his life. 

She wordlessly returned the hug and Medic felt complete.


	16. Silent Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! 
> 
> So here's a short and sweet chapter to ease us back into things. I have the motivation to finish this once again. 
> 
> You can thank the wonderful people over on our TF2 discord server here: https://discord.gg/kBnFHgY

The day of interim flew by without mercy.

Medic quickly found out that he could do very little to prepare himself. His weapons and items for combat were designed to be easily prepped and assembled. It took less than 20 minutes to bring everything up to top shape. 

As a result, he busied himself by delving into the notebook that the Psychologist had given him. It was somewhat of an interesting mix of her personal journal, and notes on the mercs with an emphasis on Medic himself. 

It looked as if she had started writing in the notebook a few months before she had arrived at Teufort. There was a couple names Medic didn’t recognize, and that there were few context clues for, so he’d have to ask the Psychologist about them later. In other chapters, she detailed her interactions with the mercs. Much of it seemed to be a more intrapersonal version of what she wrote in her professional notebooks. 

The notebook was extensive, and there was a plethora of entries that stretched all the way up to the previous day. Medic could see her opinion of him evolving and her notes of his habits that he wasn’t quite aware of himself. None of it was especially intense, but it was touching in a way that Medic hadn’t felt in quite a long time. He wondered still if there was things she hadn’t written down. She was entitled to her own secrets of course, but it was putting Medic on edge, wondering if she too had the kind of dreams that he had. Maybe that wasn’t something to ask in the face of possible death. Or maybe it was, one could never truly know. 

He watched as the Psychologist fluttered in and out of the med-bay, collecting and assembling items for her own toolkit. If he knew her as well as he thought he did, Medic could tell that she would not present herself to the Administrator if she even had a hair out of place. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic, or maybe it was for her own confidence, but perfection was impossible to achieve in this environment, that much he knew. 

Thumbing through the notebook some more, Medic was getting close to the more recent entries in the notebook. There was one that detailed their encounter in the parlor before Soldier had discovered them. His hopeful suspicions were confirmed, there was definitely room in their relationship for more of that, even if it was rather difficult to find any kind of privacy in the base.

Though, that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire the Psychologist’s figure as she hustled through the med-bay. 

Eventually, a little after lunch time, he reached the very last entry, which was addressed directly to him. 

“You’ll probably want to save that one for a later date.” 

Medic jumped when he felt the Psychologist’s hands rest on his shoulders and heard her smooth voice behind him. He closed the book and looked up at her. 

“Good timing, then. I just turned the page.” He turned around and stood up, collecting her hands from his shoulders and cradling them in his own. 

She stepped closer and kissed him briefly. “How’re you holding up?” 

Shit. He should have figured that she would see his worry right away. 

“I lived for a number of years without you, you know.” Medic raised an eyebrow. 

He knew the facade was useless, but anything to get a little banter out of it. 

The Psychologist produced a fake pout and closed the distance between them. “Are you saying that you wouldn’t miss me?” He felt one of her hands slide down his stomach. 

Medic let out a hearty, albeit fake, laugh and stepped back before all his previous mental preparation came undone. “I miss the space in my lab.”   
He watched as she swooned dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen! We are in the presence of a true poet! An authentic artist of emotion!” 

This time, Medic’s own amusement was genuine, and he pulled her closer to him, beginning to move in a songless dance. “I mean no disrespect.” 

“None taken.” The Psychologist rested her chin on his shoulder as they proceeded with their awkward, silent dance around the room.


	17. Where?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CloudyVoid from the discord for being a good sounding board. I'm really excited to explore what happens in this chapter and what it means for our heroes!

Under the dawn of a new day and the shrill cry of his alarm clock, Medic rose the next morning, fumbling for his glasses on his nightstand, too tired to lift his head and look for them. Once having secured them, he lifted himself up with the same hand and blinked in the sudden presence of light. 

He wasn’t really stirred to action until a small motion in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Turning his head slowly, he tried to recall why there would ever be any other living body in his bed. He relaxed for a second once he realized that the rhythmically moving mass of hair, flesh, and cloth was the Psychologist. However, his heart rate jumped once more when he tried to recall why she was there. At least she was wearing clothes, that much he could tell. 

Medic sat up and rubbed his temples as the gears began to grind. They had danced in the lab, made out for a considerable amount of time…. And that seemed to be it… That was the last thing that he could recall…. As he tore his eyes away from the woman sleeping peacefully, the first thing he noticed was the pleasant smell. Next it was the curious lack of blinding desert sun. Usually he could on not open his eyes completely in the morning. Were they… in her room? It would certainly explain how uncharacteristically nice the room was.

He felt the Psychologist shift and his attention snapped back to her. Had they done… something? Medic slid his legs over the side of the bed and winced as his back protested. That wasn’t normal. Blood rushed to his ears. 

Thoughts raced in his head as their grim prospects wormed their way back into his head. Had they done something rash in their fear? Were they going to be late and suffer the consequences? Medic began to pace around the room, trying to think himself out of all the possible scenarios. His face was fully flushed when he heard the Psychologist move again.

He stopped dead in his tracks and watched as she sat up and turned to face him, displaying a rather large bruise on her cheekbone. That’s when Medic’s thoughts began to overwhelm him. He didn’t do that… did he? 

He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it. 

“You’re a little…. blue and purple.” 

Medic paused to look down at his arms, sure enough decorated with bruises. 

He gestured to her face, “You should take a look at yourself.”

The Psychologist raised a hand to her face and lightly pressed the dark bruise on her face. “I… I can’t remember how I got this.”

“Come here,” Medic moved and sat on the bed next to her, gently inspecting the mark. He shivered to think of what had happened. It took a considerable amount of willpower to keep the vivid variety of possible scenarios out of his conscious stream of thought. 

After inspecting the rest of her head, he was relieved to conclude that there was no serious damage. With a final pat on her head, he stood up once more and walked over to peer out the window. 

“We’re still in Teufort, right?” The Psychologist made her way over to the singular window. 

“This isn’t your room?” he felt the late onset of surprise as he stared at her. 

Hair in disarray, the Psychologist’s expression mirrored Medic’s own shock. 

“Oh no,” she tugged at the oversized night shirt she was wearing, “I don’t think that this is even my own shirt… I believe that we’re in a much less benign situation than I originally assumed.” 

Medic averted his eyes, rationally electing to look out the singular window once more. “Yes… come to think of it… the desert doesn’t usually have so many… plants… or clouds overhead.” 

“Astute. Indeed it doesn’t.” A voice from the other side of the door was instantly recognizable. Mocking and familiar, it was an exact match to his own. 

He watched as the Psychologist froze, her posture suddenly stiff. Medic began to wonder how much she knew about the Blue team. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder. 

“What do you want? Where are we?” Medic glanced around the room, trying to find anything he could use in his defense; it had become overtly obvious where all of their bruises had come from. And he’d be damned if he wasn’t probably missing an organ or two like their last encounter. 

“Come now, you really can’t guess? I’m rather disappointed.” The BLU Medic made no effort to disguise the glee in his voice. 

Then, he was utterly surprised as he watch the Psychologist storm over the the wall, promptly slam her fist against it, and yell, “DON’T HAVE TO, YOU SICK FUCK! BECAUSE IT DOESN’T MATTER! COME IN THIS ROOM AND FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS!” 

Medic was speechless. In all of his time around the Psychologist, he had never seen her really yell. He could feel his heart pounding, he felt rather…. Threatened. And then he realized that was the point. She knew him well enough to know what would scare him, therefore she knew what would startle his counterpart. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was a smart tactic. 

The Psychologist waited for a response with her ear against the door, but neither of them expected to to fly open, sending the her back with it. 

In barged the BLU Heavy, with the BLU Medic and the Administrator a distance behind. 

“I’d say that you two have caused enough trouble, but you just wouldn’t be satisfied, now would you?” The Administrator glared at Medic as the BLU Heavy lifted the Psychologist by the collar of her shirt. 

“Oh don’t worry, Administrator,” the BLU Medic was quick to regain his composure, 

“They’ll be repaying us in full.”


	18. Dual Lividity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut was requested, and I was wondering how many people also want to see more romance/smut, so I held off for this chapter, but drop a comment below and let me know! 
> 
> For the person that requested the smut, your time is coming, don't worry.

They were *ahem* gently, escorted through a series of winding hallways, all barely decorated in various forms of purple and gray. The two colors seemed to intermingle in the poor, industrial, light. Medic watched the Psychologist from the corner of his eye, she was thinking hard, he could tell. She always stared directly ahead when she was consumed in her thoughts, almost blind to the outside world . 

“This wasn’t the deal.” Medic was surprised at the quiet animosity in his own voice.

“Well, we can’t all get what we want, now can we?” It was the first time the Administrator had spoken so far, “You took too long.” Meaning that their timetable had been pushed up. 

The Psychologist made an obscene gesture with her free hand. “Whatever you want from us, you’ve just guaranteed that you’re not getting it now. So kiss my ass.” 

It was rather incredible how fast the Psychologist had become so spiteful. Even when she was upset with him, Medic knew that she’d keep cool under pressure and find the best subtle jab to throw at him. At this particular moment, all of that was thrown out the window; She was a completely different person. 

Her words had no visible effect on the Administrator, and she only received a scoff in return. 

“Children,” the woman in purple muttered, “I am dealing with children.” 

Nothing else was said until they were shoved into a room full of monitors and a metal table. The whole space felt ten degrees colder than the hallways they had been previously marched through. 

Medic watched as his BLU counterpart strode over to a large monitor, turning his back to them for the first time. Fascinating to watch, really. If they weren’t in such a precarious situation, he would have liked to compare himself to his double; Medically speaking, they were practically identical. 

“Don’t speak to the Psychologist,” his counterpart waved dismissively at the Administrator, “She has just about enough practice getting inside heads as you do.” 

The menacing woman in purple scowled, “I find that difficult to believe, underling.” 

“I meant no offense.” He clearly meant offense, but the Administrator was sated for the time being. 

Medic could piece together that they were working together under the thin veneer of a common goal. They would cooperate, but as their egos clashed, they would likely become more and more abrasive towards each other. If he had figured that out, the Psychologist certainly knew; They were hanging on by a thread. 

The only sounds to break the terse silence in the concrete room were the clacking of computer keys as the BLU Medic worked and the not dissimilar sound of the Administrator’s heels on the floor. Medic found himself searching the room extensively, particularly the vast array of monitors that almost completely covered one wall. That was at least one tangible difference between the BLU Medic and himself; He would much rather have information presented to him in a linear fashion, rather than in a giant mish mash of data that his counterpart seemed to prefer.

“You pieces of shit could have easily found a double for me, just like you do for everyone else.” The Psychologist shifted in the BLU Heavy’s uncomfortable grip. “I’m nothing to write home about, and I don’t disrupt your little system.” 

The Administrator stopped abruptly, “You are a nuisance, girl.” 

It seemed like she didn’t prefer to elaborate, but the Psychologist ran with it.   
“Huh, and I didn’t even have to try. Looks like your system is in shambles.” 

The BLU Medic stood up as well, promptly strode over to the Psychologist and grabbed her from the Heavy’s grip, “You’re so much prettier when you’re silent.” 

Medic furrowed his brow, what the hell was that supposed to mean. From the looks of the Psychologist, she was thinking the same thing as she glared at the BLU Medic and proceeded to stick her tongue out and make fart noises at him. 

The man subject to the childish torment dragged her over to an examination table and proceeded to roughly shove her down. “I’m done with these games. We have her here, let’s proceed.” 

The menacing woman in purple stiffened, “You will do so only when I say. Remember who allows you operate, Medic.”

Medic felt a cold rush down his spine, although he knew that statement wasn’t directed at him, it was still true. Come to think of it, he had conducted some experiments that maybe he wasn’t so proud of now that the Psychologist had brought some damn standards into his life. Not that she had much herself, but there were at least some now. 

“Excuse me?” The BLU Medic looked perturbed as he roughly strapped the Psychologist down. “And just who do you think has helped you to live as long as you have, hag? You don’t have much time left.

That was likely the tipping point, as the Administrator was suddenly holding a pistol and taking aim at the other doctor. 

“I have more time than you.”


	19. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Ace Malenumen for the help with the german line and being a sounding board. 
> 
> Want the inside scoop on the fic and to meet other TF2 enthusiasts? Join the discord server!  
> https://discord.gg/kBnFHgY

“Your usefulness has run out.” 

Medic heard the click of the safety on the pistol and watched as the Administrator moved her finger over to the trigger.

BLU Medic was quick to cower, exclaiming, “You need me!”

“Do I really?” The Administrator placed one graying hand on her hip. “I have your copy right here, the one whose medical feat you have failed to replicate. Of what use are you? You are weak and replaceable, no better than a cadaver.” 

 

Medic held his breath he watched the Administrator lower the gun and roll her eyes. 

“You are the some of the most degenerate scum of the Earth I have ever had the misfortune to deal with, but your services are required for now. Just remember who you work for.” With that, she lowered the gun and clicked the saftey back into place. 

The man in blue rose in one immense sigh of relief and quietly began to slip on gloves. 

That’s when it dawned on Medic, as he watched his counterpart place a bonesaw on the table next to him, that they weren’t just being questioned. Oh no, it was going much deeper than that. 

He caught a reflection of his own worry in the Psychologist’s eyes. On top of that, he could practically feel her fear. She knew that he knew that his BLU counterpart was even less fond of anesthesia than he was. He could feel his heartbeat jump up and he began to sweat. He had promised himself that nothing like this would happen again, not at his own hands and he’d sooner die than see it happen at another man’s hands. He felt the pressure from the BLU Heavy’s grip increase, as if he sensed that he’d encounter some trouble soon. 

The Administrator’s heels clicked on the concrete and beckoned for the BLU Heavy to follow her up to a viewing deck above the operating table. Medic felt his blood pressure rise with each step. His mind was racing a mile a minute, as he watched the BLU Medic go through the steps of surgery prep in a most unsanitary matter. Not only was the Psychologist going to suffer, but she would likely die from either blood loss or infection. 

His vision narrowed and flickered from the Psychologist, the BLU Medic, the BLU Heavy, the Administrator, and back again. Every noise was pain and every flicker of movement was danger. The sharp glare of the industrial light was agony as they finally stood on the platform above the table and the bruises that were scattered around his body throbbed. 

Once on the viewing deck, Medic tried to wrestle away from the BLU Heavy, though he knew a jump from this height would spell two broken legs with no way to repair them. It was all to no avail, there was no way of breaking free. 

He helplessly stared down at the Psychologist as the BLU Medic removed the nightshirt. It was excruciating to watch, and so agonizingly unfair. 

Time seemed to slow down, and his vision narrowed. First he saw her eyes, brimming with fear, and then her lips, from which no sound came, but he could so clearly see the words,

“Alles ist gut.”

He screamed just the scalpel pierced her skin. 

Thrashing and shaking, he desperately tried to run away. Why? Why had they brought him here? Just to punish him? To make him watch? Or was it retribution from some higher power? They were going to let her bleed out on that table. And for what? Even he couldn’t explain why she was alive. 

His throat was raw and his voice was gone within minutes, but try as he might, he couldn’t look away. The Psychologist’s blood pooled on the table and dripped over the side. She was doing her best to remain silent, but not even a veteran of torture was immune to the mind-numbing pain. Her sobs echoed throughout the room, along with a quiet hissing that Medic could only guess was from the machinery in the room. 

Spot danced over his eyes as he continued to weakly struggle, until finally he sank to his knees. 

“Stop.” 

The BLU Medic paused, scalpel and surgical scissors held poised inches from the Psychologist’s heart at the Administrator’s command. 

Both the sobs and the hissing continued. 

“What is that noise?” Annoyance seethed in her voice. 

The BLU Heavy looked around. “It’s a woman crying.” 

“Arugh! Not that, you imbecile, it’s a hiss-” 

Then the world went white and the roar of an explosion ripped through the room. 

“Hudda hudda huh!”


	20. Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey! Once again, big thank you to Ace Malenumen for the German translations! 
> 
> We have a discord that we brainstorm on too! There's some exclusive content on there you probably don't want to miss.   
> https://discord.gg/kBnFHgY

Debris and dust fell from the ceiling as the cacophony of chaos began to quiet. There was now a gaping hole in the wall farthest from them, and standing in its midst was the shoddiest, most incredible, group of mercenaries on the planet. 

Taking advantage of the confusion and shock, Medic dashed down the stairs, vaulting the last few, before sprinting over to where the Psychologist laid. All he needed was one solid punch to the jaw to take down his BLU counterpart. He gladly would have beaten the man senseless, but it wouldn’t do the Psychologist much good. 

“Heads up, doc!” 

Medic looked up just in time to catch a med-kit tossed to him by Scout. Those beautiful bastards had planned a rescue mission, and everything was going to be okay. It was going to be okay. 

He ripped open the med kit, delighting in the sounds of the Pyro chasing the BLU Heavy out of the compound. A laugh of adrenaline almost escaped him until he glanced down and met the Psychologist’s eyes. 

“Alles ist gut. Alles ist gut.” Medic’s hands trembled as he undid the terrible work of his counterpart. He knew he could save her, but there was only so many times he could bear to watch her beautiful eyes fill with tears and only so many times he could allow screams of pain to escape her lips. 

Apology after apology spilled out of his mouth as chaos descended on the world around them. He could hear the Demoman’s drunken warcry and the crack of Sniper’s rifle as scores of the Administrator’s hired help fell. She had dealt quote the sum in order to secure the building, and here it was crashing down around them. 

He was so busy working and saying “sorry” over and over, he almost missed the Psychologist’s whisper. 

“This was my stupid choice…” 

She coughed and Medic winced, “Don’t apologize.” 

There was no helping it though, her blood was on his hands. 

He was patting down the last of the bandages when he heard the Administrator’s scream. Tearing his eyes away from the Psychologist, he craned his neck to watch as the Pyro held a lighter in front of the woman’s face. 

“It’s over.” Spy pushed the lighter away from the Administrator’s face, but replaced it with his butterfly knife. “I suggest you concede before things get… ugly.” 

From somewhere in the chaos, Soldier shouted, “Hah! He called you ugly, bitch!” before leaping back into the fray. 

A wave of panic welled up inside him when the Medic felt the Psychologist’s stomach move under his hand, but it wasn’t long before he realized that she was laughing at Soldier’s statement. It was a good indication that she wasn’t going into shock, and relief washed over him. He tried to shush her, insisting that the movement wasn’t good for her right now. 

Looking back up at the platform, he watched as Spy calmly escorted the Administrator out of sight. He wasn’t sure what the frenchman would do with her, but whatever it was, she was gone; She couldn’t hurt them. 

He turned his attention back to the Psychologist when he felt her hand lightly touch his shoulder. 

“Let’s go home.” Her voice was barely audible. “I think I actually might need to start drinking.” 

Her sense of humor was definitely still there, so Medic allowed himself a small smile. 

“We’ll see what the doctor prescribes, mein Schatz.” He reached out to hold her hand as he looked down at the floor. His BLU double was starting to shake off the daze from the punch. 

Medic stepped on the man’s chest. “Stay down.” 

~~~

Once the compound was secure, they tied up the two BLUs and promptly left them behind. It was a much kinder alternative to the Pyro’s plan, which involved—yes you guessed it—fire. Although, without the Administrator backing them up, they were pretty puppets with cut strings, so they weren’t much of a threat. 

There were six of them stuffed in the back of Sniper’s van, with the Engineer and the Demoman riding up front. It was uncomfortable and the heat was stifling, but as Medic was told, they weren’t far from home. 

He kept careful watch over the Psychologist, finding himself tensing up every time the van went over a bump or took a hard turn. She was alert for the most part, judging by how hard she was squeezing his hand. 

Even the battle-hardened men that were crammed in the back of the van had averted their eyes from the wounds she had been made to endure. Still, there was some sort of solidarity between the company. In a way, she had become one of them, because she had suffered for them. 

Words of encouragement were passed around in hushed tones, but the van fell silent until they arrived. From there, Heavy and Scout helped Medic carry her to the medbay, where Medic could safely use the Medigun and completely seal the wound. 

It took her some time to process the absence of pain, and when she did, she simply burst into tears. Thankfully or not, Scout and Heavy left the room, leaving Medic alone to comfort the sobbing woman in front of him. 

He didn’t bother to keep track of the time that elapsed while he held her. He didn’t care to say anything until she did. While she didn’t let go of him, she also refused to look him in the eyes. 

 

Her voice was just above a whisper as she said, “He had your face.” 

Medic froze, his hand freezing in place, in the middle of stroking her hair, and he was suddenly so much more conscious about touching her. It was an obvious statement, of course his double looked like him. But the knowledge that she had been forced to watch his face smile as that man cut her open… It felt like that scalpel was poised above his own heart. 

His next move was careful, and as he withdrew from their rigid embrace, his mind was racing. He had ruined her. He had taken a perfect woman, ambitious, intellectual, and strong, and he had broken her. She didn’t belong here; She never belonged here, with the forsaken of the world. 

The day before she arrived, he never would have thought about any of this. About what a sorry bunch they all really were. Never had to think about the consequences of their predicament, not until he had to go and learn to love. 

He selfishly stole a glance at her face, streaked with tears. He wanted to even more selfish still, and reach out to touch her face, but he kept his fists clenched. 

She spoke again, “What do I do? How do I feel?” 

Medic wished that he had diversified his studies as a young man. There was more to life than organ systems and chemical reactions. He wasn’t the one to help her, and honestly, she was probably the only one that could help herself now. It hurt that he had no words to help her. 

 

“I don’t know.” He placed his hand on the table, halfway between him and her. “But I’m here.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”


	21. Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. It's been a little bit, though I don't know if I've broken my record for the longest time between a chapter update yet. Either way, it's here now and I think I have a direction for how I want to go from here. 
> 
> Want updates on chapter progress and a cool community to chat about TF2 with? Join my discord here: https://discord.gg/kBnFHgY

In the dim light of the young night in his small room, Medic laid on his bed, unable to even close his eyes to attempt to sleep. They darted throughout the room, looking for something to simply look at, or something that could serve as an answer. It had been hours, and the darkness still held onto its secrets, selfish and cold. 

He couldn’t bear to think about what she said this evening, but bear it he must as he replays the moment over and over in his head. It was like she had stabbed him, right as the words left her lips. 

It certainly wasn’t her fault that she had been tortured by a man with his exact face, but he still felt like it had really been him that had laid a scalpel to her skin, with the way she had looked at him. 

He had gone outside to scream his frustrations at the sky already, but now that he had nothing to do but lay there in bed, he suddenly felt the urge to have a go at it again. His mind raced with a furious energy, ideas and questions racing by at a mile a minute. How was he going to get her to feel safe again? Was that even possible? He felt so helpless. 

It took another two hours of restless tossing and turning in his bed before he was finally able to sleep. 

~~~ 

He woke up early the next morning, the sleep he had managed to get had been restless and plagued by nightmares. A whole pot of coffee seemed in order as he rose from the bed and walked out of his room. 

Out of his vague recollection of his night of fitful rest, he remembered an idea that had come to him in a particularly low moment. It seemed like a selfish one, but it was the only thing he had going for him at the moment. He had tried to find any reason why it would seem unreasonable or ineffective, but nothing of significance came up. 

Crossing the threshold into the kitchen, he made a beeline for the ground coffee with the intention of making an entire pot for himself. Thankfully no one was in the room, otherwise they’d have to bear witness to his wildly disheveled state and tired eyes. Not that he cared about the opinions of any of the other mercs, he just didn’t want word of his condition getting back to her. 

Once the pot was ready, he took the entire thing and an empty mug from the cupboards and began walking towards the med-bay. On the short walk over, the sadness he had felt the from the previous day began to creep back in, as well as the nagging idea that had resurfaced once more. 

Opening the double doors to the med-bay, he thought about it some more. Maybe he’d ask her. She knew best about these kinds of things, after all. Whether she could be objective on her own case was a different story completely, though. 

He had been thinking about her, but he hadn’t been prepared for her to be at her desk, writing furiously. With cautious footsteps, he approached her, though she didn’t seem to notice at all, the scratch of the pen on the paper probably masking his footsteps, it was so loud. She only looked up when he was practically standing over her. 

“Ahem.” He awkwardly cleared his throat, unsure how she was feeling and in turn, unsure how to begin a conversation. 

She looked up at him, the sound of her pen against the paper fading out, and he could have sworn nothing had happened at all, by the way she presented herself. Her hair was neat and her clothes were as clean as normal. He could almost breathe a sigh of relief, but he held it for the time being; He had no idea what she was thinking. 

After a moment of silence, she spoke, “Can’t talk, must write.” After that, her head was back down again and the scribble of the pen against the paper could be heard once more. 

With a sigh and a small smile, Medic nodded and left her to whatever she could possibly be working on at the moment. Sitting down at his desk, he filled the mug he had brought with coffee before setting both the pot and the freshly filled mug down on the surface. He had paperwork to do, of course, but all of that paperwork went to the Administrators puppets, so he had no idea if it was worth filling out at this point. 

As he mused about what he could do besides sadly watch the Psychologist break the sound barrier with a pen, his mind wandered back to the idea he had come up with the previous night. Before he had seen her all tidy and motivated, he had contemplated removing her from the premise and shipping her onto the soonest flight back home, wherever that was. She was such a driven individual that it would probably be difficult, but if it meant that she would be safe, he would gladly do it. 

Images of her screaming and writhing under the scalpel of his counterpart flashed against his eyelids again, and he groaned. Maybe he wanted to send her away to stop feeling again. Wasn’t that easier? To not care about anyone? It was like she had unearthed a part of him that probably should have stayed buried. 

His dreary thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a hands slamming down on a hard wooden surface, and as he turned his head, he saw the Psychologist abruptly stand up. Before he could question what she was doing, she was out the door in a full sprint, holding her signature pad of yellow paper and a pen.

As if some instinct had poked him with a hot iron, Medic stood from his desk and ran out of the medbay to follow her. Maybe he was concerned that she was running away, or maybe he was just afraid to leave her side again, but he sprinted to catch up with her, and by the time he did, she was already outside. 

“Hey, what’re you-” He stopped when he saw that she was writing again, scribbling furiously with her eyebrows furrowed. 

With a sigh, he sits himself down a considerable distance away from her. He was afraid that if he didn’t sit and watch her, she might disappear, or she might burn to a crisp under the harsh desert sun. 

About twenty minutes pass, in which time Medic had zoned out staring at the horizon, before the scribble of the pen slows. He looked over to her, and watched as her hands suddenly dropped limply to her sides, the pad of paper sliding off of her lap. 

A new sound can be heard, quiet but thunderous in comparison to the pen: sobs. 

Dread washed over him, he should have known that one night wouldn’t have fixed everything. Cautiously walking over to her, he gently picked up her notepad and realized that what she had been writing had been utter nonsense. It was just page after page of repetitive thought patterns and observations, completely unlike her usual analyses. 

“I-I thought I could distract myself. But the pain… it’s still there.” Her shoulders shook and it was as if Medic had been submerged in ice. He couldn’t comfort her. Hell, he couldn’t touch her. 

Slowly, the shock of the realization that she wasn’t okay – and that she probably wasn’t going to be anytime soon – faded, and Medic knew what he needed to do. He took a deep breath and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying not to spook her. 

“Let’s go inside, hm?” He felt like such a bastard as he led her back into the compound, but he needed her to be somewhere safe while he formulated the plan in his head. It’d require a lot of talk with Spy and some cooperation from Sniper, but he didn’t know what else to do. 

All he knew was that he couldn’t watch her suffer in this hellhole anymore.


	22. Schemes

Medic led the Psychologist back to her room, instructing her to sleep off the anxiety for a little while. Once she was inside and settled on the bed, he quickly left and closed the door behind him, sinking down to the floor. The gears were slowly turning in his mind, but it was like moving boulders up a mountainside. He wanted so badly to hold her tight and for everything to go back to the way it was before, just in that tiny sliver of time where she had been healthy and battles at Teufort were how they always had been. It hurt so badly, in a way that Medic had never experienced before, and it was infuriating. 

He’d need to talk to both Sniper and Spy, but he was almost afraid of the opinionated backlash he’d received from both men. The first step was honestly to get off the floor and walk away from the room, but being nearby felt like it meant he could protect her. But if he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t even do that when they had been sharing a room. 

It took an enormous amount of willpower in order to get up off of the floor and start walking. At first it was aimless motion, meandering around the base with his jumbled thoughts, until he started to pick up traction. He’d go to Sniper first. 

Making his way outside, Medic was actually shocked to see that Sniper’s camper wasn’t there. Racking his brain, he tried to figure out where the marksman could have possibly gone. Usually when he was gone, it was for a few hours at the end of the workweek so he could go into town and restock. But it wasn’t his usual time. He thought about it for a minute, and eventually he happened upon the possibility that it may have had something to do with the young woman he had brought in with an ankle injury in previous weeks. Shaking his head, he moved on. He could still talk to Spy. 

In all honesty, he hadn’t wanted to talk to Spy at all. Not only would the bastard be initially smug about Medic coming to him for help, he also represented the most underhanded part of this whole plan. He would eventually explain this to Spy, but eventually what Medic would need him to do would require a flawless disguise in order to deceive the Psychologist and get her willingly off the base.

As his boots echoed off the concrete floor of the base, Medic almost failed to notice another set of footsteps heading towards him in the opposite direction. As misfortune would have it, they belonged to just the man he only halfway wanted to see. 

Before they could pass each other, Medic stopped and extended a hand to stop Spy as well, who halted of his own accord before his suit was soiled. 

Without even having to say a word, Spy was already in question of Medic’s motives. 

“What do you want?” His accent pervaded his tired speech, as his eyes swept over the doctor’s grieving visage. 

Medic could tell that no matter what he asked of him, Spy would likely complain, so maybe he should start with an explanation first. It would be very difficult for even the Frenchman to refuse the mercy he was trying to bring to the Psychologist. 

“I need a disguise… please. Just one. Have you… ever been Miss Pauling?” Medic asked in a hushed voice, before looking at Spy while holding his breath in suspense while waiting for his answer. 

The masked man raised an eyebrow. If it hadn’t been for Medic’s expression, perhaps he would have made a joke at the expense of the doctor himself, but he kept his sharp wit to himself during this particular conversation. 

With a sigh, Spy spoke, “I won’t answer that question, but I will let you know that I can be.” 

This was as much as a guarantee of aid as Medic usually got from him, so for the time being he could breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Good. Now here’s why I need you to be her…” Medic led the man off to somewhere they could discuss the matter in private, and where he could reveal to him every detail of his plan. By the end of the explanation, even the master of deception had to admit it was a brilliant plan, though rather simple. It mostly banked on the Psychologist’s current weakness of mind, and that was simultaneously the best and worst part. 

Soon after, Medic parted from the gentleman, and retreated to his lab, since he could not seem to ascertain Sniper’s whereabouts. Sinking into the chair at his desk, he took a moment to reflect on the current situation. It had occurred to him that apprehending the Administrator was ultimately a non-permanent solution. The brothers that ran this hellhole would not accept the delay in ceaseless fighting. They would doubtlessly find another person to do their dirty work and run this shit show. And when they did… well, he couldn’t let the Psychologist stay for that. 

As he laid his head down on his desk, the corner of a red book caught his eye, and he grabbed it in his curiosity. As soon as he recognized the book, his cheeks became dusted in pink. Back when he was first trying to understand his romantic feelings for the Psychologist, he had written letters to her that were never meant for her eyes. Opening the book, he laughed in embarrassment. The letters were confusing, cheesy, and were mostly just observations of her sitting at her desk, but a part of him thought they were sweet. 

 

It occurred to him that his plan included an abrupt separation from her, without time for goodbyes. Although he was making the choice to send her away, he felt like he needed to gather his thoughts and express them to her in a dignified manner. The letters weren’t half bad as a medium for that kind of communication, so with a sort of resigned grace, he picked up a pen and continued to write in the little red book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Certain ideas for this chapter were provided by some of the lovely people over on the TF2 discord server that I host! I'll name those lovely people in the next chapter, where we see some more concrete details for this 'plan' of Medic's.


End file.
